


Worrying About Tomorrow

by Drogna



Series: Five Long Years [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Gen, RipFic, Slight crossover with The Nightshift, Time Bureau, Whump, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-23 14:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12509396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drogna/pseuds/Drogna
Summary: The Time Bureau is three years old. Director Hunter doesn't go on as many missions as he used to, but a level ten anachronism requires his personal attention. However, when he's seriously injured, the Time Bureau rally around their injured boss to help him recover. If only that was the end of it.





	1. A Blight Upon the Land

**Author's Note:**

> This fic comes to you courtesy of Rip's new haircut which imho makes him look like he's convalescing after a recent illness.
> 
> It's set in a universe in which Rip took the Waverider back five years and left it for his younger self to find. Gideon is helping to run the Time Bureau until the Legends steal the Waverider. Gary is a recently qualified Time Agent and Ava Sharpe has been there from early in the days of the Bureau.
> 
> Special Guest Appearance by Doctor TC Callahan from The Night Shift, who Rip has recruited to the Time Bureau in circumstances that have yet to be explained. It definitely involved both of them doing stupid, impulsive things and at least one explosion.
> 
> With thanks to the members of the Rip Chat who beta read and generally offered suggestions for how to make this better.

 

“The whole thing is quite hopeless, so it's no good worrying about tomorrow. It probably won't come.”

\- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King

 

“And behold I shall be a blight upon the land, and everything I touch shall wither and die…”

– Blight, Batman Beyond

 

* * *

 

Ava Sharpe had once worked for a top-secret government agency that didn’t have doorways to move through time. It wasn’t an agency that had ever existed on paper but it had been quite important to the security of the Western world. Whilst she would never complain about her time at said top-secret agency, at least not aloud, she did now see it as rather a dull period in her life. Given what her work there had entailed, that was something of a surprise.

The simple fact was that the day Rip Hunter had walked into her life, everything had changed. She didn’t regret that for a minute, even though their first encounter wasn’t exactly how she would have wanted to meet her new boss. Apparently it had served as a reasonable interview for the position he eventually offered her, despite the fact that he’d saved her life twice before they parted ways. It was only one more time than she’d saved his.

They took to referring to it as “The Train Incident” and its mention became code for “perhaps you’d like to reconsider that order, Director” when she used it and “I think you’ll find I know what I’m doing” when he did. Other Agents stopped asking what it was when neither Rip nor Ava would provide a straight answer. The two of them always took it seriously whenever its name was invoked.

Gary once tried to use it ironically and everyone looked at him as if he’d said the worst swear word in the world. No one except Rip or Ava ever said it again.

So, Ava knew that Rip could handle himself, but she had been concerned when he’d decided to take on this particular assignment himself. The two of them were currently having a discussion in his office about exactly that concern. Rip had abandoned his Time Bureau suit today in favour of his usual field wear of sensible boots, dark combat pants, white shirt and leather jacket.

“I think you’d be better staying here and coordinating things, sir,” said Ava.

“We don’t have enough field agents and what we do have are spread thin at the moment,” replied Rip, removing his revolver from the drawer and holstering it in the leg holster. She knew he’d be reaching for his old coat next. “I’m the only one with the required experience to handle this.”

“You don’t need to personally deal with every level 10 on the board,” said Ava.

“I know, but I am dealing with this one,” said Rip.

“This is why you have field agents,” said Ava. “You’re the Director of the Time Bureau. Every time you do this it’s like the Captain leaving his ship.”

“I used to leave the Waverider all the time,” said Rip. “And I’ve been on literally hundreds of Time Bureau missions before and you’ve never complained.”

“Not like this one,” said Ava, clasping her hands behind her back. “At least part of my job is to protect you. You’re a valuable asset to the Bureau.”

Rip raised his eyebrows. “I appreciate the sentiment, but that doesn’t make me irreplaceable. Eve or Burnett would make very fine Directors. Besides, it’s not like I’m going alone. I’ll have a team with me.”

“A team which includes Gary,” replied Ava, now folding her arms over her chest.

“Agent Green is coming along nicely,” said Rip, pointedly using the proper form of address.

“Agent Green could use more time in training,” said Ava. His scores hadn’t been quite as high as she would have liked.

“Not everyone is capable of your level of perfection, Agent Sharpe,” replied Rip, with a slight smile.

She returned it with the smallest upturn of her lips, and an incline of her head at the compliment. Rip went to the cupboard and retrieved his brown duster, checking his Time Courier was in place before pulling the coat on over his leather jacket. He adjusted it on his shoulders, and stood up straight. She always got the impression he missed the coat, but it came out quite rarely these days.

“I promise you,” he said, “we will follow protocol to the letter. This will be a straight in and out. If everything goes according to plan, we won’t even exchange two words with the target.”

“When does it ever go according to plan?” asked Ava.

“A lot more frequently than it used to when I was working with the Legends,” said Rip.

“The Legends are the reason that we have to do this at all,” said Ava.

Rip gave her a look. “I was with them at the time, and whilst I didn’t approve, I couldn’t come up with anything better to fix reality. They also aren’t even aware that anything is wrong at this point and won’t be for another two years in my timeline.”

“Director Hunter,” said Gideon, the voice of the AI coming from a speaker in the ceiling of Rip’s office.

“Yes, Gideon,” said Rip.

“Your team have assembled in the Ops Centre,” she said. “Would it be appropriate to say “good luck” at this point?”

“Entirely appropriate,” replied Rip. “Although I’m sure luck will not be required. We are getting quite good at this, after all.”

“Please remember to engage your anti-radiation field and wear your radiation dosimeter,” said Gideon. “The medical team and I have no wish to treat you for radiation poisoning.” She left a pause. “Again.”

“Yes, thank you, Gideon. I have no wish to go through that again either.”

“Something you want to tell me, sir?” asked Ava.

“Not really,” replied Rip, heading for the door of his glass fronted office.

Ava had always been slightly dubious of the need for so much glass in the Bureau’s offices. She considered Rip’s requirement for transparency in real life as well as in the information chain within the Bureau somewhat unnecessary. Although it certainly made a statement that their Director could be seen working at this desk through the glass front. He could turn it opaque with the flick of a switch, but he very rarely did.

It did mean that he couldn’t hide his workaholic tendencies either. Whilst in the early days of the Bureau she’d let him get away with it, she now made it clear that him falling asleep at his desk benefitted no one. Gideon was a useful ally in this. However, they both just had to live with the fact that he would still work through the night on occasion, and often have a valid reason for doing so. He would at least then crash out on the brown leather sofa that occupied one wall of his office when he eventually couldn’t stay awake any longer.

One day, a dark blue, fleece blanket with the Time Bureau logo picked out in applique appeared on the back of the sofa, and Ava still wasn’t sure which of the agents was responsible for it. No one had admitted to being any good with a sewing machine. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought that Rip might actually have smiled when he found it. He always used it when he fell asleep on the sofa, and neatly folded it up when he was done with it.

She dragged her mind back to the task at hand.

“You have the Stonehenge mission under control?” asked Rip, as they walked.

“Yes, sir. Agents are putting the final stones back where they should be. I expect them to be done within the next twelve hours. That should free up the personnel we need to deal with Marie Curie,” replied Ava. Getting the scattered stones of the henge back in one place had taken several missions, and repairing the damage that the large stones had done was sucking yet more of their resources.

Rip nodded. “Good. You’ll be heading back to Neolithic Salisbury Plain then?”

“Yes, sir, as soon as I’ve seen you safely on your way,” said Ava.

He raised his eyebrows, stopping mid-stride. “Do I need to raise the Train Incident?” he asked.

She put her head on one side. “Derek Powers is dangerous. Possibly the most dangerous villain who’s been displaced in time that we’ve faced so far.”

“I know, Agent Sharpe, and I will deal with him. He will be back in 2041 before you know it.” He paused. “If you want to be my monitor and keep an eye on the team, then I’m sure you could swap assignments with Agent Pan.”

Her eyebrows raised. He wouldn’t normally have suggested that. Perhaps he was worried too.

“Very well, sir. I’ll send Agent Pan to deal with Stonehenge and I’ll be on the coms.” She turned around to go to the monitoring station, fitting her coms as she did so.

Rip looked vaguely amused. He moved off to join the team that were waiting for him, and opened a doorway to Ekaterinburg, Russia, 1918, where Powers was currently causing trouble during the Russian Civil War. He led the team of three agents through the doorway. Ava sighed, of course he wouldn’t let anyone else go first, he always wanted to be the one at the front. She really did worry that he didn’t understand his true value to the Bureau at times.

***

Rip always found Ava’s insistence that he should go into the field less rather touching. She seemed to have some idea that the Bureau would fall apart if anything happened to him. However, he needed the occasional field mission to stay sharp and, quite frankly, he did enjoy the change of pace from managing the Bureau and doing research. He also did prefer not to leave such nasty cases as this to his agents. He still felt like he should deal with the worst of the anachronisms himself rather than delegating to others.

Derek Powers was one of the nastier cases that they’d been faced with. He was supposed to be in 2041 where he would come up against the latest incarnation of Batman, Terry McGinnis, a protégé of Bruce Wayne. Powers was a business man of dubious morals, who had christened himself “Blight” after he was accidentally exposed to a particularly horrible mutagenic nerve gas. He’d been trying to sell the gas as to weapon to Kasnia, so Rip had no sympathy for him. The radiation treatment, that was required to save his life, also gave him glowing flesh and turned him into a walking radioactive nightmare. His doctors had managed to develop a flesh coloured skin that would contain the radiation, but was burnt through within hours of its application. Anyone who came into contact with him without proper protection after that was at risk of radiation poisoning.

This was who was now loose in 1918, and if he got anywhere near the battle that was raging in the city then the course of history would be irrevocably altered. Which would be why such a high level had been assigned to the anachronism. If the Russian Civil War was derailed then a large part of the 20th Century could end up off track, not least the outcome of the Second World War.

They had opened the doorway in a quiet part of the city, close to where the anachronism had been detected. The buildings around them showed evidence of bullet holes in the stonework and some of them were rather dilapidated. They had clearly once been quite intimidating and architectural, but that wasn’t the case any longer. Rip touched his com.

“Safe arrival, Agent Sharpe. We’ll call in when we’ve located the target,” said Rip.

“Acknowledged,” said Ava. She’d have a view of the area that she’d be watching from back at HQ, and Rip had already found her eagle eyes quite useful on a number of occasions.

“Everyone engage your anti-radiation fields. I don’t want to take any risks,” said Rip. His agents did as he asked, touching the button on the device attached to the lapels of their jackets. Rip did likewise. “Agent Green, please scan for radiation.”

The young agent took out the radiation detector, and checked the readings. “There’s an elevated reading to the north, sir, but not as high as I’d expect.”

“Possibly his protective skin hasn’t deteriorated fully yet, which is a good thing. We’d better hurry,” said Rip.

They didn’t have to go much further to find Powers. His skin was cracking like old porcelain and the bright green light of his inner radioactive self could be seen beneath. He also appeared to be about to walk into the middle of the battle for Ekaterinburg. That was not a good thing at all.

“Agents Fisher, and Kapoor, please split off and flank our target from the left, Agent Green and I will take the right. We’ll open the portal to 2041 as quickly as we can and get him back to Wayne-Powers where hopefully they’ll have the required radiation protection. At this point he was requiring new skins on a daily basis, so I think we can assume that was the case,” said Rip. “Let’s go.”

Rip watched with some pride as his agents moved into action. Agent Green was a little slow off the mark, but was the newest to field work of the three. Everything went quite well as they moved through the buildings. They approached the tall man with the shock of white hair on his head, who was fast becoming dangerously radioactive.

“Agent Sharpe, are you getting this?” he asked, over his coms. He received nothing but static. Apparently, radiation was interfering with their com system. That would not make his senior agent at all pleased.

He could see that his Agents were now in place. He readied his Time Courier and moved out of the shadows, just enough that he could get a good line sight to where the portal needed to be. He would open the portal right in front of Powers and the threat would be dealt with. Unfortunately, the battle ahead was now closer and a bullet whipped past his head, pushing him back into cover. He kicked a piece of rubble and the slight noise alerted Powers to pay more attention to his surroundings. He caught sight of the movement and turned in Rip’s direction, seemingly oblivious to the gunfire. Rip knew he could only be a shadowy figure at best, but Powers had definitely spotted him.

“Now who might you be?” said Powers. “You don’t look like you’re from around here either.”

Rip trained his gun on his target, his Time Courier set but not yet activated. His revolver was on stun, because as much as he might want to, they couldn’t kill Derek Powers without doing damage to the timeline in 2041.

“Rip Hunter, Time Bureau. We’re here to return you to your correct time,” said Rip. “Agent Fisher, if you wouldn’t mind opening a portal?”

“Yes, sir,” replied his agent, and she pressed the required buttons on the device on her wrist. Beside her, Agent Kapoor had his stun gun out and ready to use. Rip’s memory wiping gun was still in his pocket but he could have it out in second, when required.

A doorway with glowing white edges appeared that led into a rather industrial looking room.

“Now, that is a nice little gadget. I suppose I don’t get a choice about whether I go back home or not?” said Powers, with a leer in the direction of Agent Fisher.

“I’m afraid not, Mr Powers,” replied Rip. “Now, if you’d be so good as to step through the doorway and back to Gotham in 2041.”

The skin from around Powers’ eyes was disintegrating and luminous green radioactivity was shining through from beneath. It was getting worse by the minute, and it made him look like some kind of neon demon. Their anti-radiation fields would only block radiation up to certain concentrations and judging by the clicking coming from Gary’s detector, the levels were building dangerously.

One moment it looked as if Powers would oblige, the very next he was summoning a glowing green ball into his hands and throwing it towards Agents Fisher and Kapoor. They threw themselves to the ground, narrowly escaping the radioactive fireball. Agent Kapoor dropped his memory gun and it bounced out of his reach annoyingly. Rip opened fire on Powers, and very quickly realised that his revolver did absolutely nothing.

“I’d quite like one of those gadgets,” said Powers, ignoring Rip and turning on Gary. Rip realised that Gary was frozen, caught like a deer in headlights, and he was too far away for Rip to reach. Powers was already generating a new fireball.

“Agent Green! Get down!” shouted Rip, and Gary turned in his direction with wide eyes, before snapping out of his stupor and starting towards cover. The radioactive blast still caught him in the shockwave, knocking him to the ground. Rip dashed over to his downed agent and found him pushing himself onto all fours.

“Are you injured?” asked Rip.

“Only my pride,” replied Gary. “Sorry.”

Rip gave him a quick visual assessment as they hunkered behind a half-destroyed wall. He did look unharmed, except for a slight graze on his forehead.

“No need for an apology. We were all new to this once,” said Rip. “Learn and move on.” His worry was building though, and he didn’t like this situation one bit.

“Yes, sir,” replied Gary. “What are we going to do?”

“I’m thinking,” he spat out, crossly.

Rip needed a new plan. Powers was moving in their direction with a determination that Rip didn’t like the look of.

“Give me one of your clever little devices, time agent, and I’ll happily go back to where I came from,” said Powers.

“That will not be happening,” shouted Rip, holstering his clearly useless gun. “You might as well go home now.” He turned to Gary, and whispered with urgency. “I’m going to get him out of here. Stay in cover. Get Agent Fisher to close the portal as soon as Powers is through. When the interference is gone, open a portal back to HQ and let Agent Sharpe know what happened. Hopefully, I’ll meet you there.”

“Yes, sir,” said Gary, “but what are you…”

Rip gave him a look, and Gary didn’t say anymore, realising that Rip wasn’t going to give him an answer and possibly they didn’t have the time for one. Rip moved away, trusting Gary to follow his instructions and remain safe. His other two agents had very sensibly remained in cover as Powers rained down radioactive fire towards them.

He edged rapidly along the side of the building, so that Powers was now directly between himself and the portal to 2041. There really was only one option left open to him, and he could already imagine Agent Sharpe telling him off for it when he got back to HQ. Still, he wasn’t going to ask anyone else to do this.

The battle between the Russians was getting more vicious and bullets were zipping around them as the troops got closer. He watched as two projectiles impacted on Powers and they simply melted, leaving holes in his clothes and skin. Rip didn’t have much time. This was getting more and more difficult and dangerous with every passing moment.

Rip broke from cover and ran straight at Blight. He slammed into the man at full speed and propelled him back through the portal. Rip felt a bullet hit his side as he fell and then he and Powers were hitting the ground. He just had time to reach for his own Time Courier to switch the portal off behind them, before Powers grabbed him by the neck and Rip found himself thrown across the room. He slammed into the wall, feeling like a child’s ragdoll. He was aware that his head made hard contact and the world swam painfully as he landed in a heap on the ground.

Oh, yes, he thought. Powers also had superhuman strength. This was going to be fun, by which he meant the exact opposite of fun.

Powers was striding towards him. He should probably call him Blight, since his skin had now almost entirely fallen away from his radioactive body. The black skeleton grinned menacingly at him from inside the transparent green of his glowing flesh. Rip doubted his anti-radiation field could cope with the high levels of emissions that Blight put out for very long. He needed to activate his Time Courier and get out of here.

He felt for the device on his wrist and his fingers met fragments of circuitry and plastic. His Time Courier was broken, shattered, worthless. He had no way home, and that destroyed his idea of getting out of here rapidly. He had to get away from Blight without recourse to his technology. He pushed himself up onto his knees, panting with the effort and because his entire body was angry with him at being expected to move. Getting thrown into a wall hurt.

He pulled out his gun and ratcheted up the power setting. It wouldn’t kill Blight, he already knew that, but it might be able to force him back long enough that he could run. Rip had no special powers and was under absolutely no illusions as to how this would end if he couldn’t get out of here.

He aimed and fired. Blight kept coming, with Rip’s shots seemingly being absorbed by his body. Rip, was too injured to be able to dodge out of the way effectively. He found himself once again being grabbed and thrown in a different direction. This time his back slammed into railings, and he nearly blacked out from the spear tipped agony in his spine. He just had enough coherence left to fall to the floor and not over the railings themselves. Behind him was a long drop to a factory floor and a fall in that direction would have meant his certain death. As it was, he might be dead anyway, because he was now in so much pain that any movement was impossible. All he could do was lie on his side in a crumpled pile of utter misery, immobile and probably only seconds away from blacking out completely. His heart beat too quickly in his chest and his breathing was wrong, shallow and tight on one side.

Blight knelt down beside him and Rip was fairly certain that this was the end. However, the villain pushed back his coat from his wrist, clearly looking for his Time Courier, and when he found it broken he was very displeased. He yelled with rage, and Rip vaguely remembered that Blight also had anger management issues associated with his powers. At this point that detail seemed to be very unimportant, it was even more so when Blight grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head into the ground. Finally, mercifully, Rip fell into black unconsciousness, but as his vision faded he caught a glimpse of a bright white light behind Blight. The beginnings of a smile graced his lips; perhaps all was not lost after all.

***

Agent Sharpe was annoyed, primarily at herself, but equally at the Director. Playing the hero was not something that she believed should be necessary, and it was her own fault for allowing him out of HQ. The whole point of their rules and protocols was to make the dangerous situations less dangerous and agents weren’t supposed to work alone in any capacity.

Or at least she _was_ annoyed at him, right up until she saw Blight slam Rip’s head into the ground, and then every bit of annoyance was suddenly replaced with rage. She hefted the cold gun that she’d requisitioned from the armoury, and aimed it at Blight. This wouldn’t kill him, assuming their records were accurate, but it would render him immobile until they could retrieve their boss. Although looking at the crumpled form of the Director lying bleeding on the ground, she really, really wished that she was allowed to kill Blight. Still, by all accounts, Batman would get to that for her in less than a year. She pressed the trigger on her gun and turned Blight into the equivalent of a radioactive popsicle.

Blight turned towards her the moment that he realised what was happening, the ice shaking off him as he moved. She backed up and away from the portal that she’d opened. She couldn’t summon the medical team until the area was safe and it wouldn’t be safe until Blight was dealt with. She thumbed the cold control and increased its power. This was getting dangerous. She had no idea whether Blight could withstand these temperatures, she’d hoped to do this on a lower setting.

She pressed the trigger again and this time the glowing monster was encased in ice, unable to move. They’d have to wait for the ice to melt before they could wipe his memories, but by the looks of it, that wasn’t going to take long. Water was already dripping onto the metal floor.

She turned to yell for the medical team who had been on standby and found Dr TC Callahan already stepping through the portal, with his bag in one hand and the backboard in the other. The doctor was dressed in a dark blue jumpsuit with the Time Bureau Medical symbol on the breast pocket. His dark hair was as messy as it always was and he hadn’t bothered to shave today. He was one of Ava’s least favourite people in the entire organisation and she wasn’t entirely certain why the Director had picked him to be the Bureau’s Chief Medical Officer.

“Help me with him,” said Callahan, going straight to Rip and kneeling beside him.

“You’re supposed to wait for the all clear before entering a time period,” said Sharpe, tersely, as she joined the medic.

“It looked pretty clear to me and he needs help before he bleeds out,” said Callahan, pulling open his bag and putting on a pair of latex gloves. He handed Ava a wad of bandages. “Apply pressure to the wound. Looks like a GSW. I’m guessing he got that before he came here.” Callahan had good eyes and it didn’t surprise her that he’d already noted that no one here had the right kind of gun to cause that wound. He began a rapid examination of his patient.

“That’s need to know,” said Sharpe. She tapped her com. “All clear. Get the rest of the medics and clean-up crew in here.” She pressed the gauze to Rip’s side, where it began to soak up blood.

“I think I might need to know,” relied Callahan.

“1918, Russian Civil War,” said Sharpe.

“Okay, musket ball then. It could be worse.” Callahan was pulling open Rip’s eyelids and shining a light in them. “Pupils are uneven, but right is reactive. Director Hunter? Rip? Can you hear me?”

He received a groan but nothing more. Rip clenched his hand as Callahan checked his head over with blue, gloved hands, suggesting he was responding to pain. The look on the doctor’s face told Ava that he didn’t like what he found as his examination continued. A second and third medic dropped down beside them, looking to Callahan for instructions.

“Some response to pain, but that’s a skull fracture,” said the doctor, taking out his stethoscope and putting it to one side of Rip’s chest and then the other. “Reduced breath sounds on the left side.” He hung the stethoscope from his neck. “Okay, we’re going to move him very carefully. We’ve got signs of traumatic injury including to his head and back. Let’s get a c-collar on him.”

The medic produced one and Callahan snapped it in place with care to keep the neck aligned.

“I’m going to position the backboard behind him and then we’re going to roll him onto it, keeping his neck and head in line with his body. This’ll need all of us. Agent Sharpe, keep pressure on as we roll.”

The first medic positioned herself at Rip’s head, keeping his neck straight as Callahan got the board in position. The second took his legs, and together the three of them rolled Rip as gently as they could onto the board. Callahan and the medics got the straps on, adding blocks beside his head to keep it supported, while Ava’s fingers dampened with blood from the wound as she continued applying pressure.

“Okay, let’s get him back to the Infirmary,” said Callahan. “On three, lift.”

The medical team took an edge each and picked up the board with Rip on it at Callahan’s count. Ava met eyes with the lead agent of the clean-up crew, and noticed that the ice around Blight was melting more quickly. They didn’t have long.

“Agent Laurent, prepare to withdraw,” she said. “Wipe Blight’s memory as soon as the ice melts and then get back to HQ and close the portal as per protocol.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” replied Agent Laurent.

She’d have preferred to have been the one to do it herself but she wasn’t going to let go of Rip at this point. They moved through the doorway and back into HQ at a rapid pace, heading into the elevator and up to the Infirmary on the floor above.

“Gideon,” said Callahan, addressing the ceiling, “we’re going to need scanners and your tissue regenerators on standby. BP 78/46. Pulse 110. GCS of 6.  Suspected skull fracture. Bullet wound to the lower right abdomen. Possible left chest haemothorax. Possible spinal injury. Responsive to painful stimuli, but unequal pupils and unequally reactive. We’ll want to observe radiation protocol as well.” Callahan was reaching for the radiation dosimeter on Rip’s jacket and frowning.

“Understood, Doctor Callahan,” said the AI. “I am readying all appropriate equipment now and will have units of the Director’s blood type standing by.”

“Thank you, Gideon,” said Callahan.

Was it Ava’s imagination or was there a slightly worried tone to Gideon’s voice? She’d come to realise over the last few years that Rip and Gideon were close friends, and although she didn’t really understand the Director’s relationship with his AI, she did respect it.

The elevator door opened and they carried Rip into the emergency care area of the Bureau’s medical facilities. Rip was looking pale, and even to Ava’s relatively untrained eyes his breathing seemed wrong. One of the medics snapped the cuff around his wrist that would allow Gideon to administer drugs and provide a blood transfusion.

Gideon’s blue scanning lights were active and the monitor behind Rip’s head now showed his vital signs.

“Dr Callahan, please remove the bullet from the Director’s abdomen and I will seal the wound. Blood loss is the highest risk to the Director’s life at the moment. Then you will need to deal with the haemothorax.”

“Got it, Gideon,” said Callahan, moving into action. “Get him on oxygen,” he added to one of the medics, who nodded and pushed an oxygen mask over Rip’s nose and mouth, and connected it to the oxygen supply. The medic readied the tools that the doctor would need to deal with the bullet.

“The Director also has a depressed skull fracture. It will require surgery before I can stimulate bone growth. I am detecting intracranial bleeding. I believe the fracture of his T7 and T8 vertebrae is lower priority but also of concern, especially the corresponding nerve damage.”

“Blight broke his back?” asked Ava, with shock.

“It is entirely treatable with Dr Callahan’s help,” said Gideon. “The Director will make a full recovery given time.”

Ava got out of the way as Callahan moved in to remove the bullet.

“Gideon’s right, but he’s got a bit of a road ahead of him,” said Callahan, as he probed for the bullet with a pair of forceps, grabbed and pulled.

Rip groaned as Callahan extracted the bullet and dropped it in a metal tray. Gideon was already closing the bullet wound with her tissue regenerators and the wound stopped bleeding. Rip let out another groan, as incoherent as the first.

“Hey, Director Hunter, are you with us?” asked Callahan, looking towards his patient’s eyes.

“Sir?” asked Ava, stepping slightly closer. She was trying to be professional but that was quite hard when someone that she’d worked closely with for three years was seriously injured. Not only that but he was her Director, and he had always led from the front, despite her attempts to persuade him to keep himself safe in HQ.

Rip’s eyes blinked open. “Where am I?” he murmured.

“Time Bureau Infirmary,” said Callahan. “Everything’s under control, Rip. Promise.”

Rip frowned, apparently realising that he couldn’t move because he was tightly strapped down. He looked around himself with some alarm, his eyes roving around the room. Ava could see his heart rate rising.

“Director Hunter, please remain calm,” said Gideon. “You are strapped down because you sustained a spinal injury. Any movement could exacerbate it.”

“Gideon?” he asked.

“I’m here, Director. Dr Callahan is treating you and everything will be fine.”

“Gideon,” he murmured again, this time with relief.

That did seem to calm him but Ava could see that breathing was becoming increasingly difficult for Rip. Callahan moved around to Rip’s other side and began identifying the site of the haemothorax. An alarm sounded and Rip’s eyes fell shut again. The assisting medic handed Callahan a scalpel.

“Gideon, I’m going to place a chest tube between the sixth and seventh intercostal space,” said Callahan.

“That should deal with the issue. I will identify the blood vessels requiring cauterisation,” said Gideon.

“We’ve got it from here, Agent Sharpe,” said Callahan, cutting into the skin of the Director’s side. “We’ll let you know when we’ve stabilised him, but he’s got at least one session in surgery ahead of him, and none of this is going to be pretty.” He glanced over to her. “The troops saw him come in here and they’re going to get restless if someone doesn’t give them an update.”

Ava looked down at the drying blood on her hands, and nodded.

“What’s the official prognosis, Doctor?” she asked.

“Pretty much what I just said. You don’t get over a broken back overnight or a serious head injury, even with Gideon to help you. We may yet have to deal with a dose of radiation poisoning as well, although hopefully it was low enough that it won’t be serious. He’ll make it. He’s just got some serious recovery time coming. Go tell them that.” Callahan was placing the chest tube and Ava decided that she didn’t particularly want to watch anymore.

“Inform me if there’s any change in his condition,” said Ava, and didn’t wait for a reply.

She left the room to allow the medical staff to do what was required. Gideon and Dr Callahan were an unbeatable team and they’d yet to lose anyone thanks to their skills. She found herself washing the blood off her hands in the Ladies and ignoring the way her hands shook. This was just the adrenaline breaking down in her body now that the crisis was passed. It didn’t mean anything.

Instead she took her mind off things by debating how to approach the problem of letting everyone know what had happened. She needed to go to Burnett first, as the senior Deputy Director he had to be informed that he was now in charge. Deputy Director Baxter was currently away liaising with their UN representative and wouldn’t be back for several days, but she’d have to send word to her too.

Agent Green was loitering outside the Infirmary.

“Er, how is he?” asked the young man, looking rather embarrassed.

Ava let out a sigh. “He’s going to be fine, Gary. Although he’ll be out of action for a while.”

“Oh,” said Gary, looking down.

She rolled her eyes. She did not need Gary blaming himself for Rip acting impulsively. Given the accounts of Gary and his fellow agents, no one could have done anything differently to prevent this outcome, except perhaps Rip himself. However, she did understand the Director’s lack of enthusiasm to put anyone except himself at risk, she felt it too. If she’d thought of Rip’s plan and been in their situation, she might even have done the same thing.

“Gary, you followed the Director’s orders,” said Ava. “No one is going to face any disciplinary action over this.”

Gary shook his head though. “I froze up, Agent Sharpe. The Director had to shout at me to get me to move.”

That gave her pause for a moment, and she frowned. That certainly wasn’t the entire story.

“Explain,” she said.

“We were following Blight, and he spotted the Director when he had to take cover from shots fired from the battle. I think he knocked into some rubble. Blight started throwing radioactive fireballs at us. Kapoor and Fisher ducked and took cover, but I froze. The Director shouted at me and I snapped out of it in time to take cover before I got hit,” said Gary.

“So, the Director alerted the target to his presence, and from your initial verbal reports, he then decided to deal with the situation by throwing himself and the target through the time portal,” said Ava.

Gary hesitated before answering. “Yes, I suppose that is how it happened.”

“In which case, Agent, the fact you froze had nothing to do with the Director being injured,” said Ava. “But it does sound like you need further field training. Report to Senior Agent Arroya first thing tomorrow.”

“Yes, Agent Sharpe,” said Gary, and stood there looking a little lost.

“You’re dismissed, Agent,” said Ava, with only a little bit of annoyance.

It hadn’t been Gary’s fault, but she still would have wished that Rip had chosen someone else to accompany him on this particular mission. Perhaps a more seasoned agent could have come up with a different plan or realised what Rip had in mind and talked him out of it. But there was no reasoning with the Director at times.

She strode away to inform Deputy Director Burnett of the situation, and to see how the other agents were doing with rebuilding Stonehenge.

***

Rip awoke to a feeling of warm solidity in his limbs as if something was pulling him downwards and into the bed that he lay upon. He recognised this feeling, just as he recognised the feel of the circle of metal around his right wrist. It meant that he’d been injured and was now in the medbay on the heavy painkillers that Gideon preferred for serious injuries. Except that the medbay didn’t have beds, and the couches certainly didn’t have sheets and blankets like these. He frowned for a moment, and then blinked open his eyes.

He was staring up at a white ceiling. He wasn’t on board the Waverider. He was flat on his back on a bed with white sheets and a dark blue blanket. An oxygen line ran under his nose, and he could hear the sound of a medical monitor marking out his heartrate and pulse, as well as far off conversation. There was a window to his right, and sunlight shone into the room. This definitely was a medical establishment of some type and it felt like a safe one, one that he knew.

“Welcome back, Director Hunter,” said Gideon’s voice.

“Gideon,” he murmured, saying her name with deep affection. Wherever Gideon was, he knew he was in good hands. His memories flitted by in bursts and he finally realised that he was in the Time Bureau’s Infirmary. It took him a few more moments to remember why.

He groaned, and attempted to move. Pain shot down his back, and he gritted his teeth.

“What did I do to myself this time?”

“I’ll let Dr Callahan explain. He’s on his way,” said Gideon. Rip took that to mean that he was in trouble with his AI and sighed.

“Director Hunter,” said a voice he recognised.

“Doctor Callahan,” replied Rip, with resignation, as he turned towards the voice.

His head informed him that it was also now going to be a source of pain if moved, he also got to experience the room trying to catch up with his eyesight, which was rather a strange experience. Slight dizziness accompanied the weird visual effect. Dr Callahan was wearing dark blue scrubs over a grey, long sleeved t-shirt and looked about as scruffy as he always did. Luckily, he was also one of the best and most inventive doctors that Rip had ever met.

“Given that my brain feels like it’s full of wool, but it still hurts to move, I’m going to guess that the news is not good,” said Rip.

The doctor nodded. “Yeah, but if you go up against radioactive monsters with super strength, on your own, then I have very little sympathy. I’ve seen some stupid things, and that is near the top.”

Rip raised his eyebrows. “I should probably pay attention to that coming from you.”

“But we both know that you won’t,” replied Callahan, with a resigned smile.

“Probably not,” said Rip. “So, I remember being thrown against a wall and then not much else.”

“Blight broke two vertebrae in your back, and gave you a rather nasty skull fracture. Gideon’s had you sedated while the swelling in your brain went down and I repaired your skull with her help,” said Callahan. “Gideon also regenerated the nerves in your spine and helped me fix your vertebrae. I’m afraid it’s going to be painful for a while, but you’re lucky you can even walk. You’ve got quite the collection of bruises too, oh and I pulled a musket ball out of your side. I bet you don’t even remember getting hit by it.”

Rip’s eyebrows drew down as he tried to sift through his memories before he’d barrelled through the portal to 2041. He did not remember getting hit, as Callahan had predicted.

“You’re right I don’t,” he admitted.

“Because you were too busy being thrown around like a chew toy,” Callahan pointed out. “If I didn’t have access to all this future tech then we’d be having a very different conversation about brain damage and paralysis. But with a bit of rehab and some time, you’ll be fine.”

“How long was I unconscious?” asked Rip.

“Forty-eight hours,” said Callahan.

“Two days!” said Rip. “But I’ve got a Bureau to run.” Rip attempted to move, and very quickly realised that was too painful to countenance. He grimaced and gave up.

Callahan just gave him a knowing look. “I did say it’d be painful for a while, and the really bad news is that you’re not going to be allowed to lie there for much longer, because the sooner we can get you up and moving the quicker your recovery will be.”

Rip gingerly raised an arm and pinched the bridge of his nose. Even doing that sent a spike of pain right down the centre of his back, so he gave up with the gesture.

“How long before I can get back to work?”

“That’s up to you, but we’re looking at weeks not days. You broke your back, Rip, there isn’t a quick route back from that,” said Callahan. “We also need to have a conversation about the dose of radiation you took.”

“Am I also due the delightful symptoms of radiation sickness?” asked Rip, miserably.

“Hopefully not. Gideon’s had you on anti-radiation medication from the moment you were brought in, but Blight was putting out some serious radiation,” said Callahan, leaning on the rail around the bed. “So, I’ll want you to come in for monthly blood tests. You’re going to be at a much higher risk of developing some of the nastier cancers… the kind that Gideon can only treat effectively if we catch them early.”

Rip sighed. “Fantastic.”

“You’re quite lucky to be alive, Director,” said Gideon.

Rip looked up at the ceiling with annoyance. He felt awful and Gideon was being petulant at him. “Yes, thank you for that helpful comment. You’re angry with me, aren’t you?”

“I’m disappointed,” replied Gideon.

Rip closed his eyes. “You do realise that’s worse?”

“You constantly fail to take proper precautions when it comes to your safety. Would you like to know how many times this has happened during our acquaintance?”

“Not really,” he groaned. Luckily Gideon didn’t decide to enlighten him.

“I had hoped that things would be different now that you have a position of responsibility.”

“How is being a Time Master not a position of responsibility?” asked Rip, looking up again and catching Dr Callahan smirking.

“Do you two want some privacy?”

“No,” said Rip, just as Gideon replied with “yes”.

Rip let out a very long sigh and then gasped as his back twinged with a sharp, needle-like pain. He tried to shift to relieve it, which just made it worse.

“Do you need more painkillers, Director?” asked Gideon. “The nerves are still healing.”

Rip tried breathing through it, but it didn’t seem to be helping. His fists clenched at his side, his muscles tensed, and he ground out “please” grudgingly. He hated being drugged, but he wasn’t going anywhere for a while it seemed and there was no reason to be in this much pain.

A new warmth spread through him almost immediately, and things seemed to ease, along with the world becoming more distant and softer around the edges.

“Better?” asked Callahan, sounding just a little concerned.

“Much,” murmured Rip, a smile forming on his face. He was feeling a bit sleepy, but also surprisingly content to just lie in bed and float.

“Then I’ll leave you in Gideon’s care,” said Callahan. He was aware that the doctor checked his vitals, and there was a hand briefly on his shoulder before Callahan started to move away.

“TC?” he asked, eyes following the man.

“Yeah,” replied Callahan, turning back.

“Thank you for saving my life again,” said Rip.

“All part of the service, and Gideon did all the heavy lifting this time,” said Callahan. “Get some sleep. I’m getting you out of that bed tomorrow, Director Hunter.” The doctor walked off to see to his other patients.

“Yes, already dreading it,” murmured Rip, nearly asleep. His eyes wandered to the table beside his bed and the small forest of "Get Well Soon" cards that sat there, along with a huge vase of bright flowers of different colours and a bunch of helium filled balloons. He was in the bed by the window and the bed next to his was empty, so he wondered who the cards, flowers and balloons were for.

“Gideon, was someone else injured?” he asked.

“No, Director. You were the only injury,” said Gideon.

“Then who are the cards and flowers for?” he asked.

There was a very slight pause before Gideon replied. “They’re for you, Director.”

Rip frowned. “Really? That’s… very kind. Who are they from?”

“The flowers are from me,” said Gideon.

Rip smiled, feeling quite fuzzy now. “I like them. They’re very pretty.”

“I thought so too,” said Gideon. “The cards are from the Bureau’s agents. They were concerned.”

“Why?” he mumbled.

“Because you nearly died,” replied Gideon, softly.

“Oh,” he said, sleepily. “Didn’t though, did I?”

“No, but please don’t go off on your own again,” said Gideon.

Rip let out a small, soft laugh. “No promises, but I’ll do my best.”

“The balloons are from Agent Green.”

“Of course they are,” he breathed, his smile broadening. And his eyes fell shut.

* * *

 


	2. Painkillers, Sleeping and Boredom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rip convalesces while the agents of the Bureau worry about their boss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring further guest star appearances by TC Callahan and Landry De La Cruz of The Night Shift.

Back braces were uncomfortable things, Rip discovered. They were difficult to get into and hard to get out of. They also dug into him through the thin blue scrubs that he was wearing whilst in the Infirmary.

The day after he’d awoken in the Infirmary, Dr Callahan had been as good as his word about getting Rip out of bed. He suspected that neither of them had been quite prepared for the levels of pain simply sitting up would cause him. He didn’t blame TC for that, because quite frankly this was the first case of spinal injury that he’d dealt with using the Time Bureau technology, and even Gideon had expected it to be fine. It was just that nerve damage was unpredictable even when it had been regenerated, and Rip’s spinal cord was healing more slowly than anticipated, probably because of the radiation contamination.

TC was on one side of the bed, with the duty medic on the other and they eased the back brace into position, lifting him a little to get it into place. He gritted his teeth. That had hurt, but it had been momentary and lying still again quieted the pain reasonably quickly. Gideon had switched him over to pain relief upon request this morning, which meant that he had to ask for more drugs if he wanted them rather than Gideon just giving him regular doses with top-ups as required. He was quite happy with not being in cloud cuckoo land, but he could have done with starting this on a slightly high dose than he’d had earlier.

“Are you ready to give this a try?” asked TC.

“Yes,” said Rip, knowing better than to nod because it just led to dizziness, nausea and a headache, as he’d discovered earlier today.

“Okay, we’ll take this slowly,” said Callahan. He looked over at the duty medic. “We’re going to roll you onto your side towards me, and then we’ll get your legs over the side and sit you up. Easy, huh?”

“Probably, when you haven’t had spinal surgery,” pointed out Rip.

TC gave him an amused smile in reply and between him and the medic, they rolled Rip onto his side. Rip had tried to help a little but completely failed to be of any use when pain shot down his spine and he just had to let himself be moved. TC slowly brought his legs up and over the edge of the bed, which was mostly fine, but when the two of them attempted to get him to push himself up sideways from the bed, he nearly passed out from the pain.

“Gideon, more painkillers, please,” he muttered, rather out of it from the sudden agony. He had become hyper-aware of how much the spine was involved in every single motion and it was really quite annoying how totally incapable he’d suddenly become of doing anything for himself.

Once the painkillers had kicked in, they got him sat upright on the side of the bed and even that was nearly too much. He had to take a moment just to let the indescribable hurt settle, but it wasn’t really going away. He remembered the moment that Blight had thrown him into the railings and the pain now was comparable to the initial injury. He could deal with it, he’d spent enough time wounded and too far away from the Waverider for immediate help not to have coping mechanisms, but this was testing them. He clenched his teeth and tried to breathe.

“Rip? Do you need more pain relief?” asked TC.

Sweat from the exertion and discomfort was beading on his forehead. He couldn’t really respond, because he was too focused on not passing out. He felt TC take his hand.

“Okay, squeeze my fingers if you do,” said TC, practically prying open his clenched fist enough to get a couple of fingers into position to be squeezed. The thing was that Rip really didn’t want to give in, because he’d be back in fuzzy, floaty territory if he asked for more medication now. But it really did hurt a lot and nothing was helping. He reluctantly squeezed TC’s fingers.

“That’s a yes, Gideon,” said TC.

“Administering,” said Gideon.

Rip’s breathing calmed a little as the higher dose of painkillers did its work. The fuzziness was definitely evident now, but the pain was eclipsing any of the good feelings he might have achieved from the extra painkillers.

“I think you might be done for today,” said TC.

“No,” said Rip, firmly, although his voice had a rough, beleaguered edge to it. “I want to at least stand.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very,” replied Rip, pretty certain that he was going to regret this, but it was a matter of pride now. It was then that he noticed Ava had entered the Infirmary, and he had no idea how long she’d been standing there. She was as neatly turned out as always, not even a blonde hair out of place, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted her to see him like this.

“Okay,” said TC, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Here we go.”

TC and the medic took a side each, hands under his shoulders and, as gently as they could manage, helped Rip to stand. The pain was quite simply excruciating, and he barely held himself up for more than a few seconds. He let out a groan and then bit down, clenching his jaw again, as his helpers guided him back down to the bed.

“Still totally insane then,” said TC, as they got him back onto his side and then rolled him onto his back again.

“Wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation,” said Rip, quietly. Words weren’t his strong suit right now. Hanging on to consciousness was his main aim, if he was honest. He let out a long breath and tried to get himself back to a pain free state again.

The back brace was removed, and his blankets replaced. He gazed up at the now familiar, and rather dull, ceiling, just trying to breathe without it hurting.

“Are you up for a visitor?” asked TC, a few minutes later.

“Yes, I’m fine. I just needed a moment to regain my composure,” said Rip.

TC said nothing to that, apparently allowing Rip his pride, and indicated for Ava to approach. She actually smiled at him.

“It’s good to see you on your feet, sir, however briefly,” said Ava. It seemed they were going to ignore his obvious infirmity.

“It’s good to be on the mend,” relied Rip, looking up at his visitor. “As I understand it, I have you to thank for my rescue. I believe that makes us even again.” Gideon had filled him in on the details earlier that morning.

Ava folded her arms over her chest. “I was only doing my job. Your regulations on not leaving agents behind are quite explicit. Also, you hadn’t performed the memory erasure procedure, so someone would have had to have returned for that.”

“Indeed,” replied Rip. “Still, the use of the freeze gun wasn’t exactly standard procedure.”

“Nothing else had worked. You’re always telling me to be more prepared to improvise,” said Ava.

“So I am. I’m assuming the timeline is restored?”

“Yes, sir, and Blight will be dealt with by Batman as expected,” said Ava.

“I know I shouldn’t be enthusiastic about a person’s death, but I am quite pleased that he doesn’t get much longer to hurt other people,” said Rip.

“I don’t disagree, sir,” replied Ava. “However, I would have preferred you to have followed protocol when it came to dealing with him. If you’d had another agent with you, then you might have avoided injury.”

“I doubt it. There’d just be two of us lying here, rather than one,” replied Rip. “But I didn’t set a terribly good example to our agents and for that I’m sorry. Feel free to write me up to Director Burnett for breaking regulations.”

“That seems pointless, given that you’ll do something equally dangerous next time you’re out in the field,” said Ava, with an annoyed look.

“I really hope not,” said Rip. “I’d very much prefer not to be in the Infirmary right now.”

“Do you need anything? I could grab a book from your office…” asked Ava.

“I’d like to see the daily status reports…” began Rip.

Ava was already shaking her head. “Dr Callahan has forbidden all agents from bringing you anything work related, on pain of additional flu vaccinations.”

“Has he? How very prescient of him,” grumbled Rip.

“We’re all aware of your workaholic tendencies,” replied Ava. “You’re lucky to be alive. Take some time to recover.”

“It looks like I’m not going to be given much choice in that,” said Rip, with annoyance. “If I’m not allowed the status reports then I suppose a book will have to do. Gideon can help you find one that I haven’t read yet.”

“A few of the agents have asked if they can visit,” said Ava. “I can tell them to wait until you’re out of the Infirmary if you’d prefer.”

Rip frowned at this somewhat unexpected information. “They want to visit me?”

“Your Go Team especially. They were concerned,” confirmed Ava.

“Really? I don’t mind, as long as Dr Callahan doesn’t object. I’m fine really as long as I don’t try to move too quickly.” Rip almost shrugged but stopped himself in time.

“Yes, sir,” replied Ava, in a tone that suggested she didn’t believe that for one minute, and given that she’d just witnessed his first attempt to stand, he thought she probably had good reason. “I suppose I finally got to see why you were so insistent on recruiting Dr Callahan. Although I should write him up too for the violation of protocol.”

“What violation of protocol?” asked Rip, tiredly.

“He came through a time portal before the all clear had been given. As non-field trained personnel, he should have waited,” said Ava, with irritation in her tone.

“He was a US Army Ranger before he was a doctor,” said Rip. “He’s quite capable of keeping his head down, and whilst I admit his style is rather unorthodox, he is a very good doctor. One whom I owe my life to. Don’t write him up. Please.”

Ava sighed. “One day he’s going to do something like that and get himself killed.”

“I’m sure that won’t happen with you there to protect him,” replied Rip.

“I won’t always be there to protect him,” pointed out Agent Sharpe.

“I’ll have a word with him when I’m back on my feet,” said Rip.

“Good. I may not like the man but I’d prefer not to see him dead,” said Ava. “We put these rules in place for a reason.”

“So noted, Agent Sharpe,” said Rip. He was a little uncomfortable and tried to slightly change position. He winced at the inevitable pain.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to get Callahan?” she asked.

Rip breathed. “I’m fine, just an inevitable consequence of nerve regeneration. Perhaps you could distract me by giving me a verbal update on the Bureau’s current missions, since I’m not allowed the reports.”

Ava gave him an assessing look and then apparently acquiesced. She gave him a rather superficial run down of everything that was going on but by the end of it, Rip was tired and feeling sleepy again. She took her leave at that point, promising to return the following day with another update. He supposed it was a compromise that he could live with. He was rather annoyed with his doctor though for issuing a blanket order that basically stopped him from doing his job, but he’d have to have that out with TC when he wasn’t quite so tired. Gideon dosed him up with painkillers at his request and he fell asleep for a while.

Gary was sat at his bedside when he awoke.

“Hi, Director Hunter,” said Gary, upon seeing him blinking.

“Agent Green,” said Rip, slightly sleepily. He almost tried to sit up, but the stinging sensation in his back and the burgeoning headache reminded him that he shouldn’t attempt any kind of movement yet. “Gideon, painkillers please.”

“Yes, Director,” replied Gideon.

He gave them a moment to work and then turned to his visitor. Gary looked nervous.

“Thank you for the balloons,” said Rip. “They have certainly brightened my stay in the Infirmary.”

Gary smiled at that, and seemed to relax a little. “I sent them and then I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe I should have just sent a card like everyone else.”

“Given that I’m currently flat on my back, they’re rather easier to see than the cards,” said Rip. “Also I believe I owe you some thanks for your part in my rescue. If you hadn’t sent Agent Sharpe to my aid then I expect Blight would have killed me.”

“We’d have been there sooner but regulations state… Er, you actually wrote those regulations so you know that,” said Gary.

“That you have to wait three minutes before opening a new portal into a time period? Yes, I did write that one,” said Rip, quietly. “Directors Baxter and Burnett helped with most of the others though, especially with operations protocol. I was considered something of a renegade after all, and I think they were concerned some of that tendency might rub off on you lot.”

Gary gave a short laugh at that. “Not with Agent Sharpe around.”

“There is a reason why I recruited her,” said Rip. “I needed someone to keep me honest, so to speak.” He hadn’t wanted to surround himself with people who agreed with him about everything, he needed people like Ava who had a different perspective on things.

“She’s definitely very dedicated,” said Gary, looking downwards.

“Did she reprimand you for something?” asked Rip, suddenly a little concerned. Gary may still have a few rough edges but he was generally a good agent and his heart was in the right place.

“No, she sent me back to training,” said Gary, despondently. “I’ve been in simulated scenarios with the cadets all morning.”

Rip sighed. Sometimes Ava could be a tad officious and a little overzealous in her approach. Still, he supposed that was why he’d been impressed by her dedication to her duty when he first met her.

“I’ll talk to her,” said Rip.

Gary was rapidly shaking her head. “Oh, er, no, I shouldn’t have said anything. I mean, I did freeze up so, really, she’s right. I do need to go back to training, and I don’t want her to think that I went over her head.”

Rip would have preferred to have been sat up for this conversation. It was extremely difficult to hold a serious discussion of this nature when one was flat on one’s back, but it still hurt too much to do anything else.

“I meant what I said in Russia,” said Rip. “You learn from your mistakes and you move on. None of us are perfect, least of all myself. The first mission that I ever went on, I was scared witless for large parts of it and I doubt I’d have survived it if it hadn’t been for Gideon’s help and advice. So, more training sessions won’t hurt, and they’re not a punishment for what happened. Agent Sharpe is just trying to ensure your safety on future field missions.”

Gary nodded. “I understand. I suppose I’d just rather be hunting down Marie Curie with the rest of the team.”

“They freed up the personnel for that?” he asked, Ava hadn’t mentioned that.

“Yes, sir,” said Gary.

“Any idea how it went?” he asked, innocently.

“Sorry, I haven’t heard any of the details,” said Gary.

“Hmm,” said Rip. He really hated being this out of touch with his own organisation.

TC was approaching, which probably meant that his visitor was about to be kicked out.

“Okay, Agent Green, visiting hours are over for today,” said TC.

Agent Green nodded. “I’ll see you another day, Director. The rest of the Go Team said they’d drop in tomorrow.”

“I shall look forwards to that,” said Rip, although he wasn’t entirely sure about having his agents seeing him in his current state. It seemed churlish to turn them away though.

TC adopted his standard pose of leaning on the bar around the bed.

“I know what you’re doing,” said the doctor.

“And what am I doing?” asked Rip, looking up at TC.

“Pumping your agents for information,” said TC. “You’re not supposed to be working or even thinking about work. You need complete rest to heal.”

“Yes, well, it’s quite hard to rest when you’re the Director of the world’s most important top-secret agency,” said Rip, with annoyance.

“You have other people who can handle things,” said TC. “You recruited good people. Maybe you should trust them.”

“You’re including yourself in that, are you?” asked Rip, with a touch of irritation.

“Of course. The fact you’re still alive proves that I’m good at my job,” said TC, with a grin.

“Don’t forget my part in it,” said Gideon.

“Privacy, Gideon!” said Rip. “I’m sure you’re supposed to have some concept of it.”

“Given that Dr Callahan was taking sole credit for something that was partly my doing I felt I was justified in joining the conversation,” said Gideon.

“You’re right, Gideon. I’m sorry about that. I couldn’t have kept this idiot alive without your help,” said TC, with a glance towards the ceiling.

“I resent being called an idiot by my Chief Medical Officer, who I had to pull out of a burning building the first time we met,” replied Rip.

“Do you really want to bring that up? Because I’m pretty sure the only reason I was in the burning building was because you ran in there to save a woman,” said TC.

Rip sighed. “That was my job. You were the one who insisted on staying to get the dog. I remember suggesting it was time to leave.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t going to listen to some weird Englishman that I’d just met,” said TC. “And you wanted to get the dog too.”

“Honestly, if you hadn’t gone on to save the life of my target, I’d probably never have offered you the job,” replied Rip.

“If you’re regretting your decision then I’ll happily go back to San Antonio. I’m sure Agent Sharpe would be happy to see the back of me,” said TC.

Rip’s eyebrows raised. “Didn’t we just establish that I’d be dead without your ministrations. I’d prefer it if you stayed in Star City for now.”

“TC!” came a shout from the other end of the room. The Infirmary ward wasn’t large, with only eight beds, four on each side. Rip could see one of the medics even from his current position.

TC turned around. “Yeah?”

“Incoming injured,” said the medic.

“What happened?” asked Rip, attempting to push himself up a little and failing as his back and head reminded him why he shouldn’t do that. He gasped at the sudden pain.

TC turned back to him, already walking away. “I’ll let you know once I’ve dealt with it. Do not try to get up on your own. Gideon, you drug him up if you need to keep him in bed.”

“That’s unethical!” exclaimed Rip.

“Hey, I’m just doing what’s best for my patient,” smirked TC, gesturing with his palms out and dashed off, leaving Rip to stare up at the ceiling again, miserably.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what’s going on either, Gideon?” asked Rip.

“No, I’m also of the opinion that you don’t require the stress of work at the moment,” said Gideon.

“What about the stress of not knowing what’s going on?” he asked.

“Considerably less than the stress of running the Bureau,” replied Gideon.

“Traitor,” complained Rip.

“Agent Pan will be here to keep you company shortly,” said Gideon, somewhat smugly.

“I don’t need to be kept company,” replied Rip. “I have you, Gideon.”

“Agent Pan volunteered,” said Gideon. “And you still require human companionship and a distraction from the injured agents.”

“I don’t like being kept in the dark,” said Rip. “I’m the bloody Director. You’re all supposed to do as I say.”

“If you care to remember, the Bureau’s regulations state that the Chief Medical Officer may override the authority of the Director if required for medical reasons,” said Gideon. “That regulation was written by Director Rip Hunter.”

“Yes, yes. I really wasn’t thinking of this situation when I wrote that. I was more considering an accidental contagion or something like that,” he sighed.

“Then you should have been more specific,” said Gideon.

“Apparently so,” said Rip, and paused for a moment. “I’m already fed up with this. Give me _something_ , Gideon.”

“None of the agents have life threatening injuries. Two of them may be joining you in the Infirmary,” said Gideon.

“Thank you,” said Rip, “that’s at least reassuring.”

“Perhaps you should try to sleep some more,” said Gideon.

He sighed and his back complained. The previous dose of painkillers was wearing off, but he wanted to hang on a bit longer before Gideon drugged him again. He still preferred discomfort to dulled senses. He considered sleep, but he had too many questions running through his mind. He doubted he’d be able to settle his mind enough to actually sleep.

“I don’t think I can,” said Rip.

“Then it’s just as well that Agent Pan is bringing you hot chocolate, with a straw.”

Rip allowed himself a small smile. “Your idea?”

“The straw was. I believe all the agents are aware that your second favourite beverage is hot chocolate. A memo may have been issued.”

Rip’s forehead furrowed. “A memo was issued about my hot drink preferences?”

“Yes, by me,” replied Gideon. “I did feel it was important that they know what to bring you when working late. They’re a lot more attentive than the Legends were.”

“Gideon!” said Rip, with exasperation, “exactly how often have you told agents to make me tea?”

“Never,” said Gideon. “The agents decided that you needed to be brought tea when you were working. I merely let it be known that your preference is for hot chocolate after 10pm.”

Rip again found himself frowning. “It wasn’t your idea?”

“No,” replied Gideon.

That was… interesting. There had been a number of occasions when he’d been working late and one of his agents had stopped by with a cup of tea or, more frequently lately, hot chocolate. He had been slightly surprised that anyone had noted that he liked something other than tea.

Perhaps this enforced rest might have some benefits. He’d never really had time to just observe the Time Bureau at work, and now he was wondering what else he’d been missing. If they weren’t going to let him do any real work then making a few observations seemed like quite a good idea to pass the time.

***

Rip found he had three basic states during his time in the Infirmary. He was either sleeping, in pain, or bored out of his skull.

No one would give Rip any information about anything that was happening. Two agents with various injuries had joined him in the Infirmary, but they had also apparently been briefed not to tell the Director anything. TC had allowed him to have a tablet with some books and music on it, but that was all. Gideon had already thwarted his single attempt to use it to hack into the Bureau’s systems, which he’d really only tried because he had nothing better to do. Gideon was very unimpressed and had given him the cold shoulder for the rest of the afternoon.

He had managed to find a relatively pain free position to sit in, so he was no longer just staring up at the ceiling, but TC had insisted that he wear the uncomfortable back brace if he was doing anything other than lying down. At least getting out of bed had been considerably less agonising the second time he’d managed it. He’d even walked a stubborn couple of steps before everything had become too much, and he’d been steered back to the safety of bed.

That had led to another argument with Gideon because, once again, he didn’t want to take more painkillers than were absolutely necessary. Gideon didn’t like to see him in pain, but Rip wanted to at least be aware of what was going on around him. He was still hoping to pick up some details of what had caused his agents’ injuries, but it wasn’t really working because clearly everyone was avoiding saying anything in his presence. He’d given in eventually because even he wasn’t a total masochist.

Visitors were becoming an important part of his day just to keep him from going stir crazy, although he did sigh a little when he saw Deputy Director Eve Baxter stride into the Infirmary and head for his corner. She was wearing a particularly sharp suit in a dark grey with a Time Bureau pin on the lapel. Despite his continued complaints, he’d never persuaded her to put on the uniform navy blue of the Time Bureau and her justification was that she’d worn the uniform of the Time Masters for far too long and wasn’t going to wear another, even for him. After everything that organisation had put them both through, he couldn’t deny her this.

“I go away for a week and you end up in here,” said Eve, hands behind her back.

“Agent Sharpe is equally annoyed with me, so don’t feel you have to scold me too,” said Rip.

“I’m not at all surprised,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for one of your stunts to go wrong. If I’d been there, I would have shot you myself.”

Rip rolled his eyes and leaned back against the pillows carefully.

“Just as well you weren’t then.”

“Callahan says you’re mending,” said Eve, her tone slightly softening.

“Slowly, but yes,” replied Rip.

“Good,” said Eve.

“How did it go in Geneva?” asked Rip.

“Oh no,” said Eve, with a shake of her head. “No work talk. Callahan’s already briefed me and he said you’d try to get information out of me. I brought you chocolate though.”

She took out a box from behind her back and handed it to Rip. The box had a rather picturesque depiction of a swiss cottage on its front, and promised a selection of various chocolates inside.

Rip gave Eve a small smile. “Thank you. Swiss chocolate is my favourite kind.”

“And the fabricators never get it right,” said Eve.

“Indeed,” said Rip.

The two former Time Masters looked at each other for a moment. The silence stretched awkwardly.

“What do we talk about if we can’t talk about work?” asked Rip.

“I have no idea,” said Eve. “I think we’ve both been at this too long.”

“That is definitely a possibility,” replied Rip. “Protecting time itself is an all-consuming vocation. There isn’t much room for anything else.”

Eve shrugged. “I got a cat. I think it hates me.”

Rip just looked at her. “I didn’t even know you’d moved off the Acheron.”

“Yes, and I got an apartment in the city. It’s horrible,” said Eve. “But Gilbert likes it. I miss the hum of the engines.”

“Me too!” said Rip, with realisation. “I didn’t sleep properly for weeks after I moved into the apartment upstairs.”

He had a small apartment on the top floor of the Bureau. They kept a number of apartments there for agents that had moved to the city and hadn’t found anywhere to live yet, or cadets who needed to be nearby for training. It was supposed to be temporary accommodation but he had no intentions to move elsewhere. Rip preferred to be close to the office and it meant he didn’t have to worry about working out access for Gideon anywhere else.

“Do you actually spend any time in that apartment? I thought you slept on the couch in your office most nights,” said Eve.

“As if you’re any better,” he retorted.

“I have to go home to feed the ungrateful animal,” said Eve.

“What possessed you to get a cat?” asked Rip.

“It was Gilbert’s idea,” said Eve. “He thought I might benefit from the companionship. Some days it’s like he doesn’t know me at all. I think he wanted it more than I did.”

Rip chuckled. He suspected Gilbert knew that Eve had to go home to feed the cat and that might be partly the reason behind it. It got her out of the office. He hoped that Gilbert didn’t pass that idea on to Gideon.

“Our AIs can be quite solicitous.”

“You need it, apparently,” said Eve. “When are you going to finally quit field missions? You’re far more valuable to us co-ordinating things from the office and using your experience to plan missions.”

Rip let out a put-upon sigh. “How can I expect my agents to risk their lives when I won’t risk mine?”

Eve shook her head. “That is the worst justification and you know it. I’m not saying that if we lost you the Bureau would collapse, but it would certainly be poorer for the loss. You’ve built something good here. I know, I said it would never work, but you proved me wrong, and I sure as hell am not ready to step into your shoes yet.”

Rip shook his head, but was a little taken aback by Eve’s words. “I’m not planning on going anywhere yet, but I’m not going to sit in the office all the time either. I refuse to. Apart from anything, if I spend all my time in the office then I’ll lose my edge, and I need to be ready for what’s coming.”

“All the more reason for you to stay in HQ,” said Eva. “Like it or not, you’re the figurehead. We need you to stop acting like a Time Master and start acting like a Director.”

“I have been acting like a Director,” said Rip, indignantly.

“Directors stay in the office. They don’t get their backs broken by supervillains,” said Eve. “At least think about doing the sensible thing.”

Rip rested his head back against the pillows. “I’ll think about it, but I’m not promising anything.”

“If your Legends hadn’t screwed up time, we wouldn’t even need to be having this discussion. You wouldn’t be injured either,” said Eve.

“I am not rehashing this old conversation again,” said Rip.

Eve was not very impressed by his team or the fact that together they had managed to break time. Rip had somewhat given up pointing out that there really wasn’t any other option open to them.

“Fine. Enjoy the chocolate. I need to get back to work,” said Eve. “Feel better, Hunter.”

With that Eve left him to his painkillers, sleeping and boredom.

***

Dr TC Callahan had performed surgery on Rip only five days ago, and the man was now up and walking. Admittedly rather shakily, probably painfully, and with the help of a walking frame, but anywhere else, this would be considered the kind of miracle that only deities could perform. In the Time Bureau it was just Tuesday.

However, he was currently thinking that the Time Bureau Director was a stubborn ass. A stubborn ass who needed to learn his own limits. He realised that being injured wasn’t fun, but pushing his body during rehab wouldn’t make him heal any faster, and also led to one severely pissed off AI. Whilst it amused TC no end to hear Rip and Gideon bickering, it didn’t really help his patient to remain calm and rest. At this rate he was going to have to work out some way of banning Gideon from the Infirmary, which considering that she ran most of the Infirmary systems, would be difficult.

TC approached the end of the Infirmary where Rip’s bed was. He was wearing his back brace, something which didn’t always happen as it should, and sat up against the raised head of his bed. His eyes were on the holographic representation of Gideon that was being generated by the tablet computer that lay on the bed.

“I’m not being stubborn,” said Rip.

“You do not need to be in pain,” replied Gideon.

“I don’t need to be constantly high either,” he said, crossly.

“Strictly speaking the proper description of your state would be “stoned”,” said Gideon.

“That’s worse!” exclaimed Rip.

TC had heard variations of this argument about a hundred times now, and he was fed up with it. He was beginning to wonder if Rip was being an asshole on purpose so that he’d be more likely to throw him out of the Infirmary early.

“Would the two of you quit it!” he said, as he approached. “You’re disturbing the other patients.”

Rip had the decency to look chastised by that. “Sorry,” he said.

“My apologies, Dr Callahan,” said Gideon.

“The good news is that, assuming no setbacks, you get to leave my domain tomorrow,” said TC.

“Oh, thank god,” breathed Rip.

TC gave him an amused grin. “I didn’t think my company was that bad.”

“It’s not the company,” said Rip. “It’s the lack of activity.”

“You’re not getting to go back to work yet,” said TC, with warning.

Rip let out a very exasperated huff of breath. “Why the hell not? I’m not in substantial pain, don’t say a word Gideon! And I can walk with only the aid of a frame, which hopefully will become a walking stick soon.”

“It’s not the back injury that’s the problem,” said TC. “It’s the head injury. They heal better when you’re not taxing your brain. That’s why I banned you from reading reports and wouldn’t let you work.”

“And how long exactly are you banning me from working?” asked Rip. The Director was somewhat annoyed.

“Give it a week and then you can have your reports back,” said TC.

“What am I going to do for a week?” asked Rip, miserably.

“Rest, sleep, watch movies, do the rehab for your back… Basically you’re allowed to do anything that doesn’t require thinking too hard or too much physical exertion,” said TC. “A little light reading should be okay.”

Rip’s face was a picture of utter disbelief and unhappiness.

Gideon’s voice chimed in. “Cheer up, Director, I have recently installed Netflix on your television and have a queue of movies ready for us to watch together.”

“Am I going to approve of any of them?” asked Rip.

“I don’t know. I’m hoping that you like Romantic Comedies,” said Gideon, with enthusiasm.

Rip let out a groan. TC just smirked.

“I swear you’re all trying to drive me mad,” said Rip. “You can’t keep me cut off from the Bureau for another week. I’m the one in charge. I need to know what’s happening.”

“Everything is currently running rather smoothly, Director,” said Gideon.

“That is not really a sufficient level of detail, Gideon,” he replied.

“I did bring you a going away present,” said TC, and produced a small plastic bag from his pocket. It contained a metal ball, and he passed it to Rip. “I thought you might want that for your collection.”

“Huh,” said Rip, with the start of a smile on his lips. “I assume that was the musket ball that you pulled out of my side.”

“Consider it a good luck charm. It was the least serious of your injuries,” said TC.

“Indeed,” said Rip. “I’m glad you kept it for me.”

“Glad you like it. I did wonder if it was a bit morbid,” said TC.

“Surely you know me better than that,” replied Rip, with a small incline of his head.

“Of course, this is you. I hope you’re ready for your walk, because I want you to get at least once around the room before I send you home,” said TC.

“If that’s what I need to do to get out of here, then I will be happy to oblige,” said Rip.

“Yeah, we also need to talk about your psych eval. You need to schedule an appointment to talk to Landry,” said TC, looking a little sheepish. “It can be once you’re out of here, but it has to be in the next few days.”

Rip was already shaking his head, something he could now do without collapsing sideways with dizziness. “Doctor De La Cruz and I already have regularly booked sessions. I don’t need another one, thank you.”

“My understanding is that you spend those sessions deflecting her questions, but that’s a conversation for us to have another day. You know that it’s Time Bureau policy that everyone sees the Staff Counsellor after a traumatic injury,” said TC.

There were some very good reasons for that, and when TC had raised the policy with Rip initially, the Director had totally agreed that it should happen. Rip wanted to offer his agents the best care possible, and TC got the impression that was because his former employers had never done that for him. Rip made a point of ensuring that his agents were looked after, which was after all, one of the reasons TC was still working for him.

“I was sort of hoping that I might be allowed to be the exception to that rule,” said Rip.

TC just looked at him with disbelief. “You don’t get to just ignore the rules when you feel like it, Rip. And be honest, you need it. You haven’t really talked about what happened with anyone.”

“What’s there to say? I got beaten up. It’s not the first time and I doubt it’ll be the last,” said Rip. “It just happened to be someone that could throw me against a wall this time.”

“You do realise how screwed up that is?” asked TC.

“It’s the job, and although Agent Sharpe and Director Baxter both seem to want to wrap me in cotton wool, I don’t intend to entirely run this Agency from behind a desk,” replied Rip.

“Well, even when you’re back at work, you’re going to be behind a desk for a while,” said TC.

“I had assumed as much,” said Rip, with a sigh. “I am aware that my body does have limits and I’d never put any of my agents at risk by being anything less than a hundred percent in the field.”

“Good, because you’re not getting out there again until you’ve passed a physical, and Landry’s given you a psych eval,” said TC. “Now, we should get you up and moving. I’ll tell Landry to book you in for an appointment tomorrow afternoon.”

“So, I’m not getting out of a visit from our resident shrink?”

“Did you listen to a word that I said? No, it’s mandatory.”

“Well, I suppose it was worth a try,” said Rip, with a shrug and then winced, having apparently forgotten that was something he shouldn’t do at the moment.

“Do you need more painkillers, Director?” asked Gideon.

“No, Gideon! Would you stop trying to drug me!”

“There’s no need to shout,” said Gideon, in a rather icy tone. “I’m just trying to ensure your wellbeing.”

Rip’s anger suggested to TC that he wasn’t as blasé about what had happened as he was pretending to be. In fact, that made him think that Rip needed to see Landry more rather than less.

Rip deflated a little. His anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. He looked up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, Gideon. I’m a little fed up with being in the Infirmary, but I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“Apology accepted,” replied Gideon.

TC pushed the bar around the bed down, and helped Rip swing his legs around to get out of bed.

“Okay, let’s get you moving, and then we can discuss moving you to your apartment.”

Rip nodded, and TC was pretty sure that he was, once again, putting a brave face on just how much this hurt, but he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to call him on it. He’d leave Landry to dig into just what was going on in the mind of Rip Hunter. TC was staying well out of that can of worms.

***

Dr Landry De La Cruz had joined the Bureau just over a year ago as a necessity that Rip would have preferred not to have needed. However, both Director Burnett and Agent Sharpe had suggested the addition of someone like her, and he had grudgingly agreed. The Time Masters had never seen the need for any kind of counselling to help their members deal with the stress and trauma of their jobs. Generally, Rip and his fellow Captains were expected to just get on with things. He’d heard rumours, of course. There had been Captains who apparently hadn’t been able to cope with the things that they’d witnessed and Rip still wondered what had happened to them, because he was fairly certain that the Time Masters’ hadn’t had any kind of mental health facilities to help them.

Gideon had some limited mental health programs and Rip had been subjected to those at various points during his time on the Waverider. He’d never found them terribly helpful and had preferred to work through his problems in his own way. On occasion, his favoured method had been several large glasses of whiskey. Gideon had somewhat enforced the use of her programs after he lost Miranda and Jonas, but you had to actually want to get better for them to work and he hadn’t been ready to move on from his grief. That had taken years and he doubted he’d ever truly heal the wound.

Dr De La Cruz had been TC’s suggestion for their Staff Counsellor. She’d worked with him at San Antonio Memorial, where she’d had precious few resources to actually do her job and had nearly burnt herself out with the endless tide of people that she simply couldn’t help. Rip had been impressed by her when he met her, so TC had persuaded her to leave San Antonio Memorial and move to Star City where she was now part time at the Time Bureau and spent the rest of her hours at one of the local hospitals.

Rip knew that he was her most difficult patient. Most people only saw Dr De La Cruz when they needed her services. Rip saw her once a month, because after his first, compulsory, assessment session with her (which he’d rescheduled no less than eight times), she’d refused to let him do anything less. In fact, Dr De La Cruz would have preferred it if he had seen her on a weekly basis. He only maintained his monthly appointments with her because otherwise she had a habit of turning up at his office unannounced and refusing to leave. Gideon also wouldn’t let him cancel his appointments with her either. She just put them back in his calendar whenever he tried.

But TC was right. He did spend their sessions mostly avoiding her questions and suggesting they find other things to talk about. He only went to the first session at all because Ava had pointed out that it set a very bad example for the Director to refuse to attend a compulsory counselling session. He had hoped that Dr De La Cruz would have given up by now, but he had a habit of letting the odd detail about something slip out and she would then latch on to it and dig. He really didn’t see what was so interesting about the fact that he was an orphan, or that the Time Masters raised him, or that he wouldn’t have called any of his fellow trainees friends, with the exception of Miranda, or that his best friend was, in fact, his ship’s AI. They had touched on the subject of the loss of his family, but so far only superficially. He felt fairly certain that she was working up to discussing his brainwashing by the Legion of Doom, but he probably had a few more sessions before she decided to tackle it.

He’d tried to think up a good reason to skip the mandatory psychiatric evaluation following injury on a mission, but he couldn’t. He was completely out of reasonable excuses. It was only a formality anyway, so he had absolutely no reason to be nervous about it. Dr De La Cruz had scheduled an appointment for this afternoon, so now he was doing his best to appear relaxed and happy in his convalescence so that she’d let him get back to work.

In fact, Rip was neither relaxed nor happy. Rip was a seething mass of anxiety and dejection. He had forgotten that one of the reasons he didn’t spend much time in his apartment was because he hated the place. He’d never bothered to really furnish it beyond the absolute basics, and everything about it was cold and impersonal. Even the sofa had turned out to be uncomfortable if he spent large amounts of time sat on it. Gideon’s taste in Romantic Comedies had not helped his mood and he was still banned from seeing any Time Bureau reports. None of his visitors would tell him more than the barest of details about anything operational, and so far, they were all standing firm on that. He hated not knowing what was going on and it was driving him slowing mad.

The only saving grace was that he was now managing to get about on two walking sticks and Gideon had stopped nagging him about taking his painkillers. She’d just set an alarm instead, which got louder if he didn’t take his pills. He’d been annoyed the first time, and then decided that he no longer cared and he’d just take the stupid painkillers. He could do most things without pain as long as he didn’t try to move too quickly and kept his back straight, although walking did hurt still. TC also had a physiotherapy regime worked out for him that wasn’t too onerous.

Agent Sharpe had arrived with food the first night he’d been allowed out of the Infirmary, and had then stayed to eat with him. Agent Green had turned up the second night with a homemade casserole. Night three had seen Eve Baxter barge into his apartment with a bottle of red wine, which he wasn’t allowed to drink because of the painkillers he was taking, and Thai takeaway. There was considerable complaining about her cat as the two of them ate, and Gideon found a ridiculous time travel film for them to watch, something called “Time Cop”, which they then dissected the myriad inaccuracies of.

“So what’s the cat called?” he’d asked.

“Cat,” she’d replied.

“No, what’s its name?”

“Cat is its name.”

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“No idea.”

He was beginning to feel sorry for the animal.

Still, he had to admit that the company of his various agents was quite a reasonable distraction and even something that he looked forwards to. That was a somewhat unexpected development. However, the rest of the time he was very bored, or just extremely concerned about what his agents were getting up to in his absence.

He was removed from his thoughts by Dr De La Cruz knocking on the door. He grabbed his walking sticks and slowly hobbled his way to the door. He knew that he could have just shouted “come in” but he liked to answer his own door. Having a door at all was still something of a novelty. He transferred both sticks to one hand and opened the door.

“Director Hunter,” said De La Cruz.

“Doctor De La Cruz,” replied Rip, he stood to one side to allow her to enter. “Come in.”

She smiled and entered the apartment glancing about her as she did so. Rip realised that she’d never been here before. They’d always had their sessions in her office. He suddenly felt as if a layer of protection had fallen away. He wondered what she would make of his rather spartan apartment.

“How’s your recovery going?” she asked.

“Well,” replied Rip. “My back is still a little painful, but the painkillers work quite well and, as you can see, I’m back on my feet.”

He headed back to the sofa in the living room and sat down. It was covered in a dark blue fabric and had lighter blue cushions that he’d arranged to support himself in one corner. He glanced toward the screen that Gideon was currently showing her avatar on.

“Gideon, could you give us some privacy, please?”

“Yes, Director. Let me know when you’ve completed your session.”

“Of course.” He turned back to De La Cruz. “Please, take a seat.”

She nodded and gave him a smile. “I stayed in one of these apartments when I first moved to Star City,” she said. “Don’t you find it a little too close to work?”

He shook his head. “No, I prefer being on hand in case there’s an emergency.”

“Of course you do,” said De La Cruz, and took a seat in one of the armchairs that matched the sofa.

“Can we just get this over with?” asked Rip. “I need you to pass me as psychiatrically fit for duty before Dr Callahan will allow me to resume work. Perhaps you could just let him know that I’m doing fine and we can draw this to a rapid conclusion.”

De La Cruz raised her eyebrows. “So you expect me to sign off on your mental health without a proper assessment? What would you do if one of your other agents told you an anachronism was fixed without properly checking that it had been? I imagine you’d be upset with them.”

“Very probably, but this isn’t quite the same. You already see me on a monthly basis and obviously, apart from my understandable frustration at being stuck here, I’m fine,” said Rip.

“Director, you went through a traumatic, near death experience. It’s actually quite normal to struggle with what happened. We’ve talked about this before. About how you’re particularly at risk of Complex PTSD…”

“And as I’ve already said, I don’t have any of the symptoms,” said Rip.

“We disagree on that,” replied De La Cruz. “You still don’t have any real friends here at the Bureau. You’re a workaholic. You have irrational guilt complexes. You take stupid risks. Your temper is on a knife edge. And you don’t drink, which means that you gave up for a reason.”

“Gideon cut me off,” said Rip, which wasn’t quite the truth but he wasn’t sure he wanted to explain that his future self was responsible for why he didn’t drink now. Somehow he didn’t think that would make him sound any more sane. “And I do have friends; Eve was here only last night. I’m not a workaholic, I just have a very demanding job. My guilt complexes are completely rational. I take _necessary_ risks. However, I suppose I do have a bad temper at times, but so do a lot of other people.”

De La Cruz gave him a rather exasperated look. They had already had this conversation in past sessions and he really wished she would drop it. To be honest, his mental health was better now than it had ever been. He probably could have done with her services four years ago, but he’d had to muddle through on his own back then.

“Let’s leave that and we’ll come back to it another time,” said De La Cruz, apparently knowing when she was onto a loser. “I’ve read the mission reports. Tell me why you decided to take on Blight on your own.”

“I didn’t really have a choice. Someone needed to get him through a portal and none of our weapons were working against him. I saw an opportunity and I took it,” said Rip.

“On your own,” said De La Cruz. “Without backup. Which is against Bureau policy for missions like these.”

“Why does everyone feel the need to quote my own regulations back at me?” said Rip, with annoyance. “Yes, I decided to act alone because I didn’t want the agents in my charge put in harm’s way.”

“That’s a good aim, but you go out as a team for a reason. All those agents knew the risks and were there to do a job,” said De La Cruz. “What would you have done if one of your agents had taken Blight through the portal?”

“Followed them,” said Rip.

“And if they’d closed the portal?” asked De La Cruz.

“I’d have done what Agent Sharpe did and come to their aid. I know what you’re trying to get me to say. I’d also probably have put written them up for the violation of protocol and endangering themselves in the field, and Agent Sharpe has already threatened to write me up to Director Burnett. But,” he added, raising a finger. “I had no choice. For better or worse, I’m the Director of this organisation and I won’t risk one of my agents when I can do the job just as well. I’m more experienced than them and I always stood a better chance of surviving what I did than any of the others.”

“So one law for them and one for you?” asked De La Cruz. “You do realise that’s an incredible double standard that you’ve set for yourself. You’re expendable but they’re not.”

“As it should be,” replied Rip. “They have lives and family to return to. I’ve got the Bureau and Gideon.”

“That doesn’t make your life worth less than theirs, Director,” said De La Cruz.

“Doesn’t it?” asked Rip. “I remember what it was like losing my family. If I can spare any of their families that, then I will. That’s why I will always be the one to take the risk. I will always be the one to put myself in harm’s way, because too many people have already died for me. And I fully admit that we do dangerous work and I can’t protect them all every minute of the day, but I will do my best to keep all my agents safe.”

De La Cruz looked a little sadly at him and he wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have said that. She scribbled something in her notes. He doubted his views on this were news to her. She’d raised his inability to delegate the difficult missions before now.

“Can we drop this, please?” he asked. “It isn’t really relevant.”

“You don’t have to talk about anything that you don’t want to. How are you sleeping?” she asked, which was an interesting change of tack.

“About as well as ever,” he replied. “The painkillers have been helping to knock me out.”

She sat and waited. The silence stretched as she gave him time to be honest with her.

“Okay, maybe the odd bad dream,” he added, reluctantly. “That’s normal though, isn’t it?”

“It is,” said De La Cruz. “Tell me about them.”

“Blight features heavily,” said Rip. “Just the usual stuff. Not being able to get away, feeling frozen in place…”

De La Cruz nodded, inviting him to go on.

“It really isn’t that bad. Compared to after…” he tailed off, realising he’d been about to enter territory that he didn’t want to.

“After what?” she asked.

He waved a hand to deflect the question. “Nothing. We’ve talked about my insomnia before.”

“You’ve mentioned it, but you weren’t terribly forthcoming about the details,” said De La Cruz.

“I’m rather used to it. It’s not really a problem, just an annoyance,” replied Rip.

“Your dreams are a manifestation of the helplessness you probably felt when Blight attacked you. You need to deal with those feelings and process them,” said De La Cruz.

“I didn’t feel helpless. I knew that Agent Sharpe was very probably on her way to deal with Blight,” said Rip. But deep down he knew that she was right. He’d resigned himself to the fact that there was nothing that he could do and that Blight was going to kill him. It wasn’t until he’d seen the portal open that he’d actually had hope. He should have known that his agents wouldn’t let him down, but he’d felt the creeping doubt that no one was coming.

“But you also knew that you had three minutes before a portal would be opened,” said De La Cruz. “Three minutes is a long time when you have a radioactive monster assaulting you.”

“I’m aware,” said Rip, dryly.

De La Cruz sighed. “If you won’t talk to me then I can’t help you. You expect your agents to engage with this process and you obviously understand that therapy is good for their mental health. You seem to have some idea that you’re different, or that you don’t deserve to be well and happy.”

Rip shrugged. “I’m actually happier than I’ve been in quite some time. My injuries will heal. The bad dreams will fade. I’ll have work to distract me.”

“You shouldn’t be using work as a distraction,” said De La Cruz.

“There are less healthy coping mechanisms, I assure you,” said Rip.

“Which you’ve used in the past?” she asked.

Rip just gave her a look. She was quite good at asking questions that he didn’t want to answer.

“My personal past is the past. Are you going to sign me off as fit or not?” he asked, with some irritation.

“We haven’t touched on one important aspect of your injury,” she said. “TC’s got you coming in for monthly blood tests because you were exposed to a high dose of radiation that could cause future health problems.”

“Dr Callahan has it in hand. Why should I worry? Gideon will be able to deal with anything that arises,” said Rip.

“Gideon can cure cancer?” asked De La Cruz.

“In most of its forms,” said Rip. “Often the treatment still isn’t pleasant, but generally it’s successful. Medicine does come on somewhat over the years.”

“So, you’re not worried?”

“Not in the slightest,” replied Rip.

After that Dr De La Cruz basically gave in. She seemed to finally get the message that Rip wasn’t about to fall apart due to his run-in with Blight, even if he’d never be the poster child for perfect mental health. She signed him off as fit to return to work with only minor reluctance, and made him promise once again that he’d continue his monthly sessions with her.

A few days later TC also gave him the all clear to return to the office, which couldn’t happen a moment too soon as far as Rip was concerned. When he got there, he found a brand-new bowl full of jellybeans on his desk, yet another card, this time with the message “Welcome Back” emblazoned on the front, which was signed by all his agents, and propped on his chair, a rather nice walking stick. It was dark wood with a smooth, L shaped, bone handle and a small, brass hour glass was inlaid into the wood just under the grip. A note was tied to it and he recognised TC’s handwriting. It read: “Thought this was more your style. TC.”

Given that he’d need some help walking for a while and the standard metal one was quite ugly, the present was gratefully received. He settled gratefully into his chair and started to catch up on what had been going on in his absence. It felt very good to be back.

* * *

 


	3. Under the Weather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a time jump between this chapter and the last.

It had been nearly two years since Blight had sent the entire Time Bureau into a panic by seriously injuring its Director. Since then Rip had managed to avoid further life-threatening injuries and had only ever needed to attend the Infirmary for minor issues.

Despite Ava and Eve campaigning on a continual basis for him to remain in the office and abandon his ongoing outings into the field, he hadn’t budged. Once he’d ditched the cane and passed his physical, he’d gone back to accompanying agents on their missions when required. His agents were noticeably more jumpy when it came to keeping him out of harm’s way for quite some time afterwards, which was both touching and very annoying, but it did settle down after a while.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only side effect of Blight’s assault and, looking back, Rip should have realised that something wasn’t right much earlier, but he hadn’t made the connection. He’d been too wrapped up in running the Time Bureau to even notice that he wasn’t feeling well. The first indication that he had was that he was tired, but that really hadn’t seemed terribly unusual at first. He was used to working late and being so tired that he fell asleep at his desk on occasion, but now he seemed to have trouble even getting through the day. He ignored it though, because he didn’t have the time to stop. He’d just returned from a trip to the UN, there had been several field missions in a row before that, and it had all led to quite a few days when he probably hadn’t got enough sleep. He was bound to be tired. It made sense for him to be tired.

The bruises that appeared on his body did give him pause though. He had never been particularly clumsy, but he went to shower one morning and realised that he had quite a few new bruises. He didn’t remember falling over or even knocking into something that would have caused them. He’d also had a couple of spells of dizziness, but he put that down to standing up too quickly. Gideon had been concerned, but she was often concerned about how much he worked and slept. His AI did tend to worry and often unnecessarily.

It was only after Rip had slept in, awoke feeling like he’d gone ten rounds with Agent Sharpe, had nearly been late for a meeting, and then felt like going straight back to bed again, that he’d decided perhaps he should get checked out. TC had been chasing him to go in for his monthly blood test because he’d skipped the last couple, so he was due anyway.

Rip found TC in his office on the Infirmary floor. The door was open so he knocked on the frame, and then sunk his hands into his pockets, looking down at his shoes. He didn’t like medical establishments at the best of times, and he really tried to avoid the Infirmary when he wasn’t actually injured.

“Director,” said TC, with a smile. “I’ve been trying to track you down. How was the UN?”

“Pretty much, er, as it always is. Lots of long, dull meetings about points of law,” said Rip, raising his head to look at the Time Bureau’s Chief Medical Officer. “Do you have a moment?”

“Yes, come on in. Normally I have to drag you up here,” said TC, ushering Rip into the room and closing the door behind him.

Rip entered the office rather nervously, even though he was doing his best not to be. He sat down in the chair to the side of TC’s desk.

“I’m feeling a little under the weather,” he confessed.

TC perched on the edge of the desk, and frowned, suddenly all business. Apparently he realised how terrible Rip must feel to actually come to him at all.

“What kind of “under the weather”?”

“I’m unusually tired, I wake up with no energy to do anything, and I really just want to spend the day in bed,” said Rip. “My joints ache, and when I get up, I’m dizzy. I thought that maybe I’d just been working too hard, but it’s beyond that. It doesn’t seem to ever get any better, no matter how long I sleep for.”

“Okay,” said TC, “well I think we’ll get you scanned, but we should take some blood first, since you’re here.”

Rip nodded. “I have been rather remiss in getting to my appointments.”

“There’s nothing new there,” replied TC. “Landry said you rescheduled one with her too.”

“Gideon allowed it because I did need to attend the UN on this occasion,” said Rip. “There are some things that I really can’t delegate.”

TC would normally have found a nurse to take Rip’s blood but the doctor didn’t seem inclined to call anyone else this time. Instead he was taking out a needle and vials, and snapping on the standard blue latex gloves.

“Roll your sleeve up,” said TC. “Right arm?”

Rip nodded. “Either is fine.” He removed his blue jacket, undid his cuff button and rolled up his sleeve, revealing several small bruises on his arm.

TC immediately frowned when he saw them. “What did you do there?”

“I don’t remember,” said Rip. “I must have knocked into something and forgotten.”

TC clearly didn’t like what he was seeing, but he found a vein and filled a couple of vials with Rip’s blood. He labelled the vials carefully, peeling off the gloves he’d worn.

“I’ll put a rush on the analysis. Let’s get you to the scanners,” said TC.

Rip stood and immediately dizziness hit him. He closed his eyes briefly and felt TC holding him by an arm. When he opened his eyes, TC was looking at him with concern.

“How long have you felt like this?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. It came on gradually. Probably a few weeks,” he replied, with a half shrug, picking up his jacket. “I’m sure it’s just a virus.”

“Yeah, and when you get your MD you’re allowed to say stuff like that to me, until then you’re supposed to come to your doctor when you don’t feel well,” replied TC.

“I’ve been busy and then out of the country…” said Rip.

“I’ve heard all the excuses before, Rip, you don’t need to dust them off again for me,” replied TC.

He steered Rip out of his office and into the room with medical couches next door. Rip let out the smallest of sighs at the sight of the familiar medical equipment. He’d been here often enough over the past few years. At least he’d made sure that the Infirmary had comfortable couches and beds for the injured who needed longer recovery periods. Spending any extended time in a medical couch was not really conducive to feeling better, and he’d been very determined to give his agents the best care. He sat down with resignation.

TC handed off the blood vials to one of the medics with instructions to do an immediate analysis.

“Gideon, could you scan the Director, please,” said TC.

“Of course, Dr Callahan,” said Gideon. The blue lights came on and roved across Rip’s body as he tried not to fall asleep. Minutes passed as Gideon ran all of her diagnostic programs and made her determinations.

“Dr Callahan,” said Gideon, and Rip already didn’t like the tone of his AI’s voice. “The blood tests will confirm my diagnosis, I believe, but the elevated white cell count is the significant indicator, as is the accompanying anaemia.”

“What is it?” asked Rip.

“I’d rather wait for the blood tests, just to be sure,” said TC, looking at the diagnostic readouts. He was uncharacteristically reticent.

“TC,” said Rip, fixing him with a resolute look. “Gideon is rarely wrong. You know the blood test is just a formality. What’s wrong with me?”

TC took a deep breath and met Rip’s eyes. “Leukaemia. I’ll need to examine the blood test results to see what subtype, but it’s definitely Leukaemia.”

Rip was stunned into silence, and he suddenly felt frozen in place. He blinked a couple of times. “Leukaemia. Right.”

His brain was having trouble processing this. He had cancer, and that… that wasn’t a good thing.

“There are treatment options, Director,” said Gideon. “Once I have done the analysis of the bloodwork I will be able to suggest a chemotherapy regimen that will lead to remission.”

“Thank you, Gideon,” said TC.

Rip was still struggling with even forming words. He could see that TC was looking at him with concern and he never liked it when the doctor did that. He only did that when something was serious.

“How?” he asked.

“We’ve always known this was a risk,” said TC. “It’s why I’ve had you coming in for monthly blood tests. If you hadn’t missed the last couple then we’d have picked this up sooner, but I’m pretty sure we’ve still caught this early enough that you stand a really good chance of beating it. Gideon’s got drugs in her databanks that I wouldn’t normally have access to.”

“The radiation poisoning, then?” asked Rip, trying to understand.

“That was probably what triggered it, yes,” said TC.

“And it’s why I’ve been tired?” asked Rip.

“Yes, Leukaemia is a cancer of the blood. You’re producing too many of a certain type of immature white blood cell. They build up in your bone marrow and mean you have less capacity to produce red cells, mature white cells and platelets. Your body’s been trying to deal with all these extra immature white cells whilst working harder to produce the cells you need,” explained TC. “But the prognosis for Acute Leukaemia is good, even in 2017, and with Gideon’s help you should be fine. You will need chemo for a few weeks though.”

“And rest,” said Gideon, pointedly.

“Right,” said Rip, again, because he had no idea what else he was supposed to say. “But later, because I have a meeting with Agent Sharpe in fifteen minutes, then a Directors’ briefing, and anachronism resolution planning sessions for most of the afternoon.”

He made to get up from the medical couch, but TC put a hand on his chest. He was shaking his head.

“I don’t think you understand. You’re not doing any of that. You’re ill, and we’re starting chemotherapy this afternoon,” said TC.

“You just said that I had a good prognosis,” said Rip, getting annoyed now.

“I know I did but this is still serious. We can beat it, but you have to let us treat you, and you’re going to have to slow down,” said TC. “Chemo can be rough. You’re probably going to feel worse before you feel better.”

“I see,” replied Rip, still not about to back down, but perhaps deflating a little. “A compromise then? I’ll work for the rest of the morning and return this afternoon. I’m not going to give up on work completely, at least not unless I have no other choice. There must be a way to work around my schedule?”

TC was looking thoroughly unimpressed and shaking his head again. “You are one of the most stupidly stubborn people that I know. Most people when they’re diagnosed with cancer would take some time off work, but not you. The Great Rip Hunter can’t possibly take time off.”

“Yes, well, not everyone has sworn an oath to protect the timeline, or is the Director of the Time Bureau,” said Rip. “I take my work seriously. There is nothing more important.”

“ _You’re_ important, Director,” said Gideon.

“Not more important than time itself, Gideon,” replied Rip, with a glance upwards.

“Yeah, but if you die then there’ll be one less person protecting the timeline,” pointed out TC. He gave one last put-upon shake of his head and sighed. “Look, I’m prepared to work with you on this, but we’re going to have to come to some kind of arrangement. You can’t dash off to Geneva at the moment, and you can’t carry on working the hours you’ve been working.”

“I think that’s a given,” replied Rip, with resignation. “I’m already very tired.”

TC looked a little shocked at that, but Rip had suddenly realised that actually he really couldn’t do as much, because all he wanted to do right now was sleep. That wasn’t something he had wanted to admit to himself, but reality had to set in at some point.

“So, mornings in the office and afternoons in here? Maybe I can bring my paperwork?” he suggested.

TC gave him a pat on the shoulder. “As long as you stick to that, sure, I don’t see why not. Chemo comes in rounds anyway, so you’ll have on weeks and off weeks while you recover, assuming Gideon’s newer drugs work in the same way.”

“They do,” replied Gideon. “I would still recommend taking afternoons off even during the off weeks. You’ll need the time to rest between rounds. Early rounds should be less onerous than later ones.”

Rip nodded. He was just starting to understand that he might have to make a few adjustments while he dealt with this illness. His usual approach to injury was to push through, to keep going until he couldn’t anymore, at which point Gideon would usually fix whatever the problem was, and he’d be up and about again in no time. The only real exception to that had been the back and head injuries he’d sustained when he’d fought Blight, but the radiation had complicated things and even Gideon didn’t have a magic wand that she could wave to make him instantly better. Out of all his injuries over the years it had been the closest to death that he’d really come. His recovery had been correspondingly tiresome, but he’d ended up only needing two weeks off work. Getting full mobility back had taken a lot longer, but it was only annoying to use a cane and certainly hadn’t been unmanageable. He knew he’d been very lucky.

This sounded like it was going to be considerably worse though. He couldn’t push through the constant tiredness. He’d tried, but it wasn’t working, it was what had made him give in and go to see TC in the end. And TC had said he’d feel worse before he felt better. That didn’t reassure him that he’d be getting much work done over the course of his treatment.

The people that he worked with would also have to be told if he was out of action for any protracted period of time, starting with Directors Burnett and Baxter, but also Agent Sharpe. Perhaps he could avoid letting the general rank and file know until he had to. He remembered how worried everyone had been when he’d been injured, and he’d been rather embarrassed by their attention.

“I don’t want anyone to know about this who doesn’t have to,” he told TC.

“Medical confidentiality means I couldn’t tell anyone unless I had your permission, or if it was in a professional capacity. But that’s going to be a hard secret to keep,” said TC. “People are going to start wondering why you’re spending your afternoons here.”

“Do I have to be treated here?” asked Rip.

“It would certainly be a lot easier,” said TC.

Rip sighed. “Let’s just try to keep it quiet for as long as possible.”

“Okay,” said TC. “I guess we can give it a go, but I don’t think it’ll take the agents long to work out that something’s up. People around here tend to freak out when you end up in the Infirmary.”

Rip rolled his eyes. “I have absolutely no idea why. It’s not like I’m the only person who can do this job.”

“No, but you’re the one who does it,” said TC. “I mean how many of the people out there are like me? I guess they might not all have been in physical danger, but how many of them did you pull out of metaphorical burning buildings?”

Rip shrugged. “A few.”

“And you wonder why people care…” said TC.

“I just don’t like to see talent go to waste,” said Rip.

“That is how you ended up with the Legends,” said Gideon, helpfully.

“Yes, thank you, Gideon,” replied Rip, not enjoying the reminder of his former team, whom he was on course to meet again quite soon. He looked at TC. “I have some people to inform about… my condition. I’ll return in two hours, if that’s acceptable?”

TC gave a nod. “It’ll do. Don’t be late or I’ll come and find you.”

“Understood,” replied Rip, and pushed himself slowly to his feet. He pulled his jacket back on and did his best to collect himself so that he looked like the Director of the Time Bureau again. He’d fought immortal tyrants, speedsters and dark magicians and beaten them all, he was pretty sure that Leukaemia wasn’t going to be the thing that took him down. It would be nice if he could quell the small voice of doubt in the back of his head though.

***

“Talk to me, Gideon,” said TC, once Rip had left. “What did the blood work say?”

“The Director has Precursor B Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia, complex karyotype, with a very high white cell count of 180,000 per micro litre,” said Gideon. “He has correspondingly low red cell and platelet counts.”

“That’s not good,” said TC.

“Agreed, but there is currently no evidence of central nervous system involvement, which is a good thing, and no indication of infections or other complications,” said Gideon. “However, he is anaemic and will continue to have low energy levels. The low platelet count will mean he will be at risk of bleeding and bruising easily.”

“How effective are your cancer treatments?” asked TC. “I didn’t lie to him about having a good chance, did I? Because complex karyotype… that’s about the worst subtype to contract. It’s hard to treat and aggressive.”

“I believe we can combat it. I have a number of rather more sophisticated options at my disposal than this era would normally offer, but it will still take months to treat and that is partly because his body will be weakened by the treatment and need recovery time between rounds of chemotherapy,” said Gideon. “The Director is not going to like this. He will be susceptible to infections and the side effects are unpleasant. I can also provide medication to combat those, but it is not one hundred percent effective.”

“I understand what you’re saying,” said TC. “We’re going to need help. He’s going to kill himself if he doesn’t slow down while he’s undergoing treatment.”

“I suggest that we enlist the help of Director Baxter and Agent Sharpe,” said Gideon.

“Good idea. I’ll talk to Landry too,” said TC.

“I think that would be wise,” replied Gideon.

“Give me the bottom line, Gideon. What do your programs say his chances of beating this are?”

“Assuming that we can achieve full remission after chemotherapy, I believe he has a 56% chance of survival. That is a considerable improvement on 2017’s standard survival rate of 20% for this type of Leukaemia. If the initial course of chemotherapy is unsuccessful… the odds are not favourable,” said Gideon.

“Then, we just have to hope that the chemo works. Can you fabricate what we need? I’ll brief the medical staff and make sure we’ve got plenty of anti-nausea meds in,” said TC.

“I will prepare what is required, Dr Callahan,” said Gideon. “The Director’s health and wellbeing are my primary concern.”

***

“Director Hunter!” said Eve Baxter, waking Rip, who had been sleeping at his desk.

He awoke with a start. Eve was leaning against the doorway into his office.

“Chemo still kicking your ass?” she asked.

“How delicately you do put things, Deputy Director Baxter,” said Rip, trying to straighten the papers that he’d inadvertently slept on. “And yes, round one of chemotherapy is proving to be quite tiring.”

“Which is why Ava sent me to chase you out of here and back to your apartment,” said Eve.

“Why would Agent Sharpe ask you to do that?” asked Rip.

“Because you didn’t listen to her when she told you to go home earlier. The deal was that you work mornings and rest in the afternoon. Stop being such an ass and do as you’re told for once,” said Eve.

“I can’t,” said Rip. “If I don’t finish this paperwork by the end of the day then the Bureau won’t legally be able to operate in half of Africa.”

“Hand it over. I’ll do it,” said Eve. “The UN is partly my responsibility too.”

Rip looked down at the half-finished document, and realised that he could barely see the page. The first round of chemo hadn’t been too bad so far, but it was making him even more tired than he had been before.

“Fine, it’s yours,” he said, and began to collect the papers together and file them in the manila folder that they’d come out of. A drop of something red landed on the cover of the folder, and Rip frowned, because he didn’t remember even having a red pen on his desk. A second droplet followed the first.

“Hunter, you’re bleeding,” said Eve, and he could hear the concern in her voice. But Eve Baxter wouldn’t sound concerned, that wasn’t even in her, surely.

“Bleeding?” he asked, but she was right. More droplets were falling from his nose. He quickly reached for the handkerchief that he always kept in his inside jacket pocket, and pressed it to his nostrils. “Damn it,” he murmured, as he removed it briefly to find it covered in blood.

Eve turned away and grabbed the nearest passing agent. “Get me some ice from the kitchen and something to wrap it in. Quickly.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the agent.

“Pinch the bridge of your nose and lean forwards,” said Eve.

Rip did as suggested, but it didn’t seem to be helping. A few minutes later, the agent returned with the ice and Eve held it to Rip’s nose. He glanced up at his colleague, somewhat embarrassed at his current state.

“Hey, Gideon said I might be needed,” said TC, entering the office without knocking.

Rip glanced towards the ceiling with annoyance. “Gideon!” he said, his voice muffled by the hanky and icepack. “It’s just a nosebleed.”

“Not when you’re undergoing chemo,” said TC. “Gideon was totally right to call me. How long have you been bleeding?”

Gideon supplied a time in minutes and seconds, but Rip didn’t really pay attention to it because he was beginning to feel light headed.

“I’m feeling a little strange,” he mumbled.

“Okay, I think we should lie you down. Let’s get you to the couch,” said TC.

Rip realised that he’d begun to shiver. He was always cold lately. TC had put that down to anaemia and reduced circulation, but this felt more like shock. He found himself being helped up and across to the leather couch. He rather gratefully lay back, and Eve grabbed the blanket and spread it over him. He was propped up on cushions so that he could still stop the blood from going down the back of his throat.

“Sorry,” he said to Eve.

She just shrugged. She looked like she didn’t really know what to do with herself now that she’d discharged her blanket responsibilities. She was giving TC quite a worried look and he had taken over pressing the icepack to Rip’s nose with one hand, whilst the other was taking his pulse at his wrist.

“Weren’t you supposed to be going back to your apartment?” asked TC.

Rip gave him a look. “You’re going to tell me off now?”

“I haven’t even started,” said TC. “Your blood count was a little low earlier. I told you to rest. I think we’d better give you a transfusion tomorrow before we start chemo.”

“Oh good,” he said, sarcastically. That meant the entire thing would take longer than usual.

“And then you actually need to rest for the remainder of the afternoon,” said TC.

“I think it’s stopping,” said Rip, sniffing, and trying to do anything to distract TC from further complaints about his working hours.

He removed the hanky and more blood didn’t gush from his nose, so it seemed he was right. He found he was shaking, and feeling quite strange.

“You’re a little shocky. Blood loss when you’re already anaemic will do that,” said TC. “So, I think you should just rest here for a bit and then go home for the rest of the day. Please. As your doctor I’m begging you to help me help you.”

He considered it for a moment, but he did feel pretty miserable. “Fine. I’ll go home as soon as I feel up to it.”

“Director Baxter, perhaps you could arrange for an agent to escort Director Hunter to his apartment after he’s rested and to and from chemotherapy tomorrow,” said TC.

“Yes, I’m sure I can do that,” said Eve, dryly. “He seems to get lost at the moment.”

“Yes, please, make jokes at my expense. It makes me feel so much better,” said Rip, tersely. “I don’t need an escort.”

“Shut up, Hunter, and stop being an idiot,” said Eve.

“You do know that I outrank you?” asked Rip, pitifully.

“On paper,” said Eve. “Get some rest.”

Rip gave up. Some fights just couldn’t be won, especially not on days when he had no energy for an argument.

“Only three more days to go, and then you get a week off,” said TC, referring to how long the current round of chemo had to go before his body was given a week to recover.

“You have no idea how much I’m looking forwards to that,” said Rip. He glanced up to find that half the office had been watching the debacle. So much for keeping his illness from his agents. He hadn’t even lasted the full week.

The next day, Director Baxter kept her word and Agent Green was there to escort him to the Infirmary and then back to his apartment. Not only that but Gary also made him tea, got him settled on his sofa in his apartment, made sure he had his pills, water, and the TV remote close at hand, and found him a second blanket. Then he left him to rest for the afternoon, and that was the pattern for the next two days too. One of his agents always made sure he returned to his apartment, and that continued during the week between chemo rounds. Rather than escorting him home from the Infirmary an agent would escort him home at lunchtime and then get his lunch for him, either ordering it in or using the fabricator. Gary even cooked for him.

Rip was rather puzzled by the entire thing, but was too aware of his position in the Bureau to create a fuss. Gideon let him get away with a bit of light planning in the afternoons and he could live with that. Whilst he wasn’t feeling much better, he did think that the first couple of weeks of treatment had gone reasonably well. He’d been taking note of his white cell counts and they seemed to have already improved a little.

Unfortunately, TC had warned him that the further chemotherapy progressed, the worse he’d probably feel. But it was much better than the alternative of letting the Leukaemia kill him, so he really didn’t have a lot of choice.

***

Another week passed and the second round of chemotherapy brought new challenges.

Rip looked at the handfuls of hair that lay on the bathroom floor. All he’d done was run a comb through it. He glanced in the mirror; something that he really preferred not to do at the moment because he didn’t like the way his skin had become pale and his face gaunt. His beard was also now patchy, and his hair was looking quite strange, with bald patches appearing rather obviously. He honestly just looked a mess. He let out a rather sad huff of breath. He’d known that he was going to lose his hair due to the drugs that were in the second chemotherapy round, but that didn’t make it any easier to see it happen.

“I think it’s time that I developed an interest in hats, Gideon,” said Rip.

“I can fabricate whatever headgear you require,” replied Gideon.

“Thank you,” said Rip. “And I don’t suppose you know where the hair clippers went? And my razor?”

“I believe you will find both items in the cupboard under the bathroom sink,” replied Gideon.

Rip nodded and went to rummage in the cupboard. He found what he needed, replacing the blade in his razor with a fresh one. He lathered his face with shaving soap and began the process of removing his beard. It didn’t take him long, and then he stood in front of the mirror, looking at the face of a man he hadn’t seen in years. Miranda had liked the beard, so he’d never felt the need to get rid of it until today. He’d originally grown it to make himself look older, but it was part of who he was now. Or at least it had been. He’d probably been eighteen the last time he’d been clean shaven.

That was the easy bit though. The next bit he was going to find rather more difficult, but it had to be done. He plugged in the hair clippers that he normally only used for quick trims. He set them to the lowest setting, took a deep breath, and began at the front of his head going backwards. Sandy hair fell into the sink. Now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop, because that would just look strange. He shaved the rest of his hair from his head in long strokes, tidying up the areas around his ears and the back of his neck as best he could. By the time he was done, not a single hair remained. He was completely bald, and inexplicably, he looked at himself and wanted to cry.

The person who stared at him from the mirror wasn’t him. That person wasn’t Rip Hunter. He wasn’t even sure who it was, but it was disconcerting and wrong. He was a picture of illness, weak and sickly, and even at his lowest ebb, even after Savage had starved him for weeks, he’d never looked as bad as this. He put the clippers down and leaned against the sink, bracing with both arms. He struggled with his emotions, trying desperately to return them to the boxes that they came from, and for a moment that was all he could do. He was not going to cry. Time Masters didn’t cry, and Directors of the Time Bureau definitely didn’t, not over something so trivial as a lack of hair.

“Director?” asked Gideon. “Is something wrong?”

“No, Gideon, nothing’s wrong,” said Rip, even though he knew that was a lie. He just didn’t know why this was causing him so much trouble. Except that he did, and he was just denying it as hard as he could. He knew that it wasn’t the loss of hair, it was what it represented. It was proof that he was ill, proof that this was serious, and he was vulnerable, relying on others. He had never trusted easily and putting himself in the hands of TC and his staff was causing him undue anxiety. He was hating every minute of it and this was just a symbol of his defeat. He blinked away the start of tears, glad of Gideon’s distraction.

“It’s just hair. It will grow back when I stop the chemo.” He rubbed at his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“It will,” replied Gideon. “However, I have always appreciated humans with bald heads.”

Rip couldn’t help but smile, reminded of Gideon’s preferred avatar. “Of course you have.”

“I believe that it can be quite cold though. Perhaps a woolly hat might be an idea?”

Rip nodded, slowly. “At least when I’m in the apartment. I might require something a little more formal for work, or I suppose I could just be bald.” But he didn’t like that idea, baldness due to illness felt like showing off his vulnerability, and the idea of wigs just made him cringe. Hats seemed to be a much better proposition.

“I have fabricated an item of headgear for you to try,” replied Gideon.

“Thank you, Gideon, I’ll be there in a minute,” he said.

“I suppose I know why I shaved the beard off now,” he said, mostly to himself. His future self hadn’t had a beard in the hologram message that he’d left for himself. “I’d always thought that I must have had a good reason.”

Rip pulled himself away from staring at the mirror and moved on to tidying up. He cleared the cut hair away and replaced the clippers and razor in the cupboard beneath the sink. He wouldn’t need either now for a while.

“You should also try to eat, Director,” said Gideon.

“I’m not really hungry,” said Rip.

“Perhaps just a snack,” suggested his AI, as attentive as ever.

“Maybe some soup,” he decided, giving in.

He might manage that. His taste buds were being quite peculiar lately and nothing tasted exactly as it should. Things seemed to have acquired a metallic edge to them that was decided unpleasant. Bland food was best because it tasted of very little to begin with. At least TC’s anti-nausea medication meant that he hadn’t felt sick so far, although very strong smells occasionally turned his stomach.

Round two of chemotherapy was proving to be considerably worse than round one. He was even more tired now, and had to rest before he could even leave the Infirmary after he’d finished his chemo sessions. He hadn’t made it in to work for two days. TC was keeping a close eye on his blood count, and he’d already given him a platelet infusion to try to improve his anaemia. It wasn’t really doing much though. He’d felt a bit better the day afterwards, but just as tired the day following that. He was looking forwards to the relief of the rest week in between rounds.

He moved stiffly towards the fabricator and found that Gideon had produced a dark blue beanie with the Time Bureau logo on the front of it. He gave an approving nod. This would do.

“Thank you, Gideon,” he said taking the hat. He pulled it on and found it fit perfectly. It did keep his head warmer, and given his propensity to feel the cold at the moment, that was useful.

“What kind of soup would you like?” asked the AI.

“Something dull,” said Rip.

“Chicken noodle?” asked Gideon.

“That will do nicely,” said Rip. “And tea, please.”

Rip really preferred to cook for himself, but he didn’t have the strength to stand for long periods at the moment, so fabricated food had to do. The fabricator produced first the soup and then the tea. He took it to the table and sat down. He didn’t feel much like eating, but he did need to try. He spooned some of the soup into his mouth and swallowed. It definitely tasted wrong, but it was palatable. He managed about half the bowl before he began to struggle. As he was attempting to force down another mouthful, there was a knock at his door.

“Tell whoever is at the door to come in,” said Rip, too tired to get up and answer it.

“It’s Agent Sharpe,” said Gideon.

The blonde-haired agent entered the apartment, and actually stopped in her tracks for a moment when she saw her boss.

“That’s a new look,” she said. “I like the hat.”

“Gideon’s choice,” said Rip.

“Goes with the uniform,” replied Ava. “I brought you the dailies. Nothing particularly unusual on the radar. Preparations are going well for tackling LA.”

“Good, we’re still on schedule for October then?” he asked.

Ava nodded. “There’s something we need to address about that. What if you’re not well enough to go on the mission?”

“I have to be,” said Rip. “I was there, so I have to go, even if you have to dose me up on stimulants to get me there.”

“Callahan won’t like that,” said Ava.

“He doesn’t have to like it, he just has to do it,” said Rip, “but I’m hopeful that it won’t come to that. My white cell count is improving. Gideon seems confident that the treatment will work, and I’ll be in remission by July.”

“My calculations indicate that if your white cell count continues to fall then there is a 62% chance that you will be in remission by July 14th,” added Gideon, with a little smugness to her tone.

Ava raised her eyebrows. “At least Gideon’s giving you better odds now.”

“I have adjusted the odds according to the information available to me,” said Gideon. “The third round of chemotherapy is likely to be particularly arduous however, and some recovery time will be required.”

“As long as enough time has passed for my hair to grow back…” said Rip.

“Hair grows at approximately 1.25cm per month. Given your appearance in the hologram message, two months should be sufficient,” replied Gideon.

“So noted, Gideon,” replied Rip. “Everything will be fine, Agent Sharpe.”

“If you say so,” said Ava. “I brought you chocolate from the agents in Operations, and jelly beans from the field agents. They hope you’re doing better this week.” Ava deposited several packets on the table.

Rip felt immediate revulsion at the idea of sweets. His beloved jelly beans had been one of the first things to lose their proper flavour, much to his annoyance. At least tea seemed to be unaffected so far.

“Please thank Operations and the field agents for me. And the tech department for sorting out the new sofa,” he said, with a wave in the direction of his much more comfortable replacement sofa. “I should be in the office more next week.”

“Is Callahan okay with that?” asked Ava.

“It’s my week off chemotherapy,” said Rip. “Hopefully I will be well enough to manage my previous schedule of mornings in the office and paperwork on the sofa here.”

“That wasn’t what I asked,” replied Ava.

“He should be, as long as the last few sessions don’t hit me too hard,” said Rip. The chemotherapy had a habit of depleting his platelets and that led to poor clotting, fatigue and more bruises. At least the aches in his joints hadn’t worsened.

“Now, give me a run down on the status reports,” said Rip, and shivered. “Actually, let me grab a jumper first.”

“I’ll get it, sir,” said Ava. “Finish your dinner.”

Rip didn’t tell her that he’d given up on finishing it, that seemed an unnecessary detail. Ava headed into Rip’s bedroom and he could hear her ask Gideon where to find a sweater. She returned with his favourite one, that he pulled on over his head. He’d lost some weight over the last few weeks, and the sweater was a bit baggy, still it was quite warm at least.

He coughed, and pushed away the last of his soup.

“You need to eat more,” said Ava, as she cleared away the plate without further comment.

“I know. TC said the same thing, but everything tastes strange and I’m just not that hungry,” said Rip.

Ava nodded. “Chemo does that.”

Rip gave her a quizzical look.

“My mother had breast cancer. She died just before I met you,” said Ava.

“I’m sorry,” said Rip.

“Me too,” said Ava. “But we can’t save everyone.”

Rip nodded. “I know, and I regret that more than anything.”

Ava gave him a curt nod.

“Shall we?” he asked, indicating the reports.

He sipped his tea as Ava gave him the rundown of all the missions he’d missed because he’d been too sick to make it downstairs. She eventually left, after making sure that he had everything he needed, including filling a hot water bottle for him. That item had somehow appeared in his apartment without his knowledge and he still wasn’t sure which of his guard agents had sneaked it in. He was quite glad of the extra warmth though.

Rip was always somewhat surprised when Ava showed her more caring side, but it did exist, and he seemed to be the main beneficiary of it at the moment. He went to bed, feeling terrible but at least knowing that the Bureau was still running as it should.

He awoke feeling worse than before. He was sweating and shivering, hot one minute and cold the next, and his joints were aching again. This was either a symptom of the Leukaemia, fever was certainly on the list of possible symptoms, or he’d picked up a random infection. Either was possible.

“Gideon,” he mumbled, pulling the sheets and blankets around himself. “What time is it?”

“5.29am,” said Gideon. “Your voice stress pattern indicates that you are unwell.”

“I’m definitely not feeling too good,” confirmed Rip, with a groan. “But everything is relative at the moment. Is Dr Callahan in the building?”

“No, Director, he was not on the night shift this week. Would you like me to call the duty medic?” asked Gideon.

“No, just let Dr Callahan know that I require a house call when he’s available and cancel all my meetings for the day. I’m not going to be well enough,” he said, and couldn’t help the disappointed huff of breath that followed that pronouncement.

He refused to feel sorry for himself though. He knew that he’d get better. Gideon had all but promised it, and then there was the small matter or his future self leaving him a message that he hadn’t actually left yet. He just had to get through the next few weeks of misery.

He reached for the painkillers that he kept by his bed and took two of them. Hopefully they’d help. He closed his eyes and eventually fell asleep again.

“Rip?” asked a voice. “Come on, wake up. You’ve got a temperature and I need to work out why.”

Rip blinked his eyes open and looked up at TC Callahan.

“Leukaemia, at a guess,” grumbled Rip.

“Yes, it could be the leukaemia, or you could have picked up an infection, which you can’t fight because all your white cells are screwed up,” said TC.

“With my luck, it’s probably that,” he groaned, attempting to make his body obey him enough to sit up.

TC took out an in-ear thermometer and Rip endured him shoving the item into his ear, despite the fact that he now had a headache and he really just wanted to roll over and go back to sleep.

“I like the new look, by the way. It’s very Lex Luthor,” said TC.

Rip scratched at his head absently. “It’s very cancer patient,” he replied, with a lack of humour.

TC looked a bit unhappy about the temperature reading he’d just got from the thermometer. “Yeah, I need to get you to the Infirmary where I can scan you,” he said.

Rip gave him a dark look. He did not want to move. He ached, and walking was going to be painful, tiring and potentially impossible.

“The alternative is that I take your blood here and you have to wait for the results. How’s your breathing?”

“Fine,” said Rip.

“What about your head? Is it sore?”

Rip nodded. “Yes, I’ve got a headache.”

TC frowned. “Okay, it might just be an infection, or a virus, but I really want to rule out the Leukaemia progressing to your central nervous system. So, if this doesn’t show any sign of infection, I’m going to have to move you down to the Infirmary, because I’m pretty sure you’d rather Gideon scanned you than I do a lumber puncture.”

Rip’s eyes widened slightly. “Er, yes, definitely.”

“At least if it’s an infection then Gideon can probably fabricate something to deal with it,” said TC, taking out his blood testing kit. He gently took Rip’s arm, mindful of the fact that his patient bruised easily. He rolled up his pyjama sleeve, located a suitable vein, and drew a vial of blood.

“This’ll bleed for a while,” said TC, removing the needle and pressing a cotton ball to it. “Keep pressure on it for a few minutes for me, and then I’ll put a dressing on it. If it doesn’t stop, get Gideon to call me.”

Rip nodded.

“Agent Pan should be up in an hour or so to get you breakfast,” said TC.

“I’m sure Agent Pan has better things to do with her time than make me breakfast,” said Rip.

“Yeah, try telling that to your staff,” said TC. “They’ve got a rota.”

“A rota?” asked Rip, incredulously.

“Yeah, I think they noticed you weren’t taking terribly good care of yourself. In addition to escort duty they’ve got a meal schedule worked out,” said TC.

“And what does Agent Sharpe think about that?” asked Rip. He couldn’t imagine Ava being happy about her agents taking time out to look after their sick Director.

“Surprisingly, the Ice Queen seemed to think it was a good idea,” said TC.

“I wish the two of you would learn to get along,” said Rip, coughing. “Or at least behave like adults in the other’s presence.”

“Try asking for something reasonable, you might stand a chance of getting it,” replied TC, eyeing Rip at the cough, but seeming to decide to say nothing. He packed the blood sample away, and then dressed the still bleeding wound the needle had left behind.

“What is your problem with her? She’s a very good agent,” said Rip.

“That’s my problem. She’s a good agent and nothing else. It’s like she’s forgotten how to be human,” said TC.

“The Bureau needs dedicated and driven people like her,” said Rip. “And she has saved my life on a couple of occasions now.”

“Maybe we can form a club,” replied TC. “You do need your life saving quite a lot.”

“Thank you for the reminder,” replied Rip.

“Get some sleep. I’ll either be back with antibiotics or to drag you to the Infirmary,” said TC.

Rip sighed and settled back into bed. “Gideon, can you turn up the heating, please?”

“Yes, Director.”

He closed his eyes and slept.

TC returned later with antibiotics, the lesser of two evils in this case. Chemo was postponed until he’d beaten the infection he’d picked up. If this continued happening, then he’d never keep his appointment with the Legends in October. He needed to get better.

His body had other plans. He picked up another infection before the second round of chemo had finished and ended up giving up any plans of returning to work, not least because the third round of chemo was as bad as the second but with all the side effects multiplied by ten. Still, he knew he’d get through it, because in many ways he already had.

He just needed to hang in there and still be alive in October. That was really all that mattered now. Close the time loop, and protect the fragility of the timeline that he’d helped to break all those years ago.

***

Round three of chemo had been a bitch. TC wouldn’t have wished it on an enemy, let alone a good friend.

It had only take two doses before Rip had been unable to even lift himself out of the medical couch after chemo. The first had been devastating but, after the second, TC had given up and admitted him to the Infirmary ward. He’d just been too tired and in too much pain from his joints to really move without some serious pain medication, and TC couldn’t administer that without an IV. Rip hadn’t wanted to stay, and TC hadn’t wanted to keep him there either, but the Time Bureau Director had to give in when he couldn’t manage to stand for more than a second or two. He needed the facilities of the Infirmary to keep him comfortable.

They had suspended treatment again until he could actually endure the rest of the drugs, and even then, TC wouldn’t let Rip leave the Infirmary. The drugs in round three were particularly nasty and Rip had developed light sensitivity on top of the usual fatigue, appetite suppression and nausea. The anti-nausea drugs didn’t even touch it now, and Rip spent a lot of time just throwing up the contents of his stomach post chemo. The following doses of chemo were just as bad as the others had been and set him back again and again. TC had even rather desperately consulted with Gideon again about whether it was possible to try something else, but the AI had replied in the negative apologetically.

TC had his patient on a drip which delivered a cocktail of medication, and had seriously considered a feeding tube. Rip spent most of his time sleeping, barely paying attention to his surroundings. They’d given him a quiet side room, darkened by black out curtains, and whenever TC came in to check on him, he could hear Gideon quietly reading to Rip or sometimes what sounded like soft singing. His agents had brought him get well cards, flowers and sweets, but he hadn’t been well enough to take an interest in any of them. Agent Sharpe visited daily and read him the summary report, leaving out any particularly stress-inducing incidents. He sometimes managed to stay awake for the entire thing and occasionally offered helpful advice. Director Baxter came almost as often and from what TC could hear, she mainly reminisced about Rip’s glory days in the Time Masters. She even got a brief smile out of the Director one day.

It took TC three weeks to finish the chemo, with breaks in between doses to get Rip just well enough to be able to tolerate the next one. Rip had cried when he’d connected up the final dose, partly in relief that it was the final one, but partly because he knew all too well how sick and miserable he was about to feel. TC had sat with him as the poison infused, feeling rather guilty that he was slowly hurting someone who he considered to be a friend. And Rip had apologised softly, whilst lying in a darkened room, too ill to even lift his head, for being so weak that he’d cried, which was enough to bring tears to TCs eyes too as he told him not to be so stupid.

But that was the lowest point, and after that Rip’s bloodwork showed that the mutated cells were dying. He was improving, and his white cell count continued to drop until it was approaching normal levels. The treatment had worked, and Rip was going into remission.

It was several more weeks before Rip began to regain his strength and even more before he could leave the Infirmary. At which point, Rip, entirely predictably, had fought tooth and nail to be allowed to return to work, much earlier than TC was happy with. They’d ended up with a compromise that neither of them was truly pleased with, as often was the way with compromises.

Rip was happy though. His bloodwork was looking better every day and he was on schedule to make his rendezvous with the Legends. TC found himself admiring the man, despite his better instincts not to admire difficult patients who refused to stay in bed the moment they reckoned they could stand on their own two feet. The doctor had been an Army Ranger and seen men crack and crumble under pressure, but here was Rip, practically back from the dead, and champing at the bit to lead his agents again.

Rip Hunter was proving to be a goddamned superhero in TC’s book and he realised that he wasn’t the only one who thought that way. The Time Bureau’s agents seemed impressed too, and he watched from the side-lines as the agents made sure Rip never got his own cups of tea, that he always had lunch brought to him, even if he didn’t feel like eating, and his sunglasses were always to hand for when the light was too bright and his eyes hurt. If he fell asleep on his couch, then a guard was posted to ensure that he wasn’t disturbed. If he looked like he had a headache, then painkillers and water were on his desk in minutes.

The Time Bureau agents had developed quite the protection complex towards their boss, and TC pitied the next bad guy that tried to do Rip harm. Although as it happened, it wasn’t a bad guy at all. It was Rip’s former team who made the mistake of coming up against the Director.


	4. Not Good News

“You’re not going!” said TC.

“I’m in remission,” said Rip, sternly. “And I have to go.”

“Which just means that your white cell count is back to normal,” said TC. “You’re still anaemic and recovering from treatment. It’s only been two months since we finished the chemo.”

“I’m feeling much better,” replied Rip, straightening his tie and jacket.

“You’re not well enough to be doing this, sir,” chipped in Ava. “You’re not even cleared for field work.”

“Yes, listen to her, even if you won’t listen to me,” said TC.

“I’m fine,” said Rip, looking between the two people stood in front of him. “Remission means that I’m getting better. I even have hair again, which is just as well because it would have been awkward if I’d needed a wig. Besides, this is when I close the loop. I have absolutely no choice about this unless I want to unbalance time further.”

“You could wait,” said TC. “Give it another week.”

“You know that I can’t. Gideon noted my age when I took the Waverider back for my past self, at least partly so that I’d know when to do this,” replied Rip.

“I don’t like this, sir,” said Ava. “The Legends are unpredictable and ultimately responsible for the event that necessitated the Bureau existing. They’re the reason that you were injured by Blight and are ill now.”

“In remission,” said Rip, again. “And yes, they broke time, but they didn’t have a lot of choice. None of us would have wanted to live in the world that the Legion of Doom created. However, that’s beside the point. I need the Waverider so that I can take it back to my past self and I’d like to give the Legends the option of going home. They have family and friends who’d like to see them again.”

“And if they don’t want to go home?” asked Agent Sharpe.

“For now, we’re not giving them a choice,” said Rip. “I’m almost certain that they’ll object, and it wouldn’t surprise me if we see them again. Honestly, I hope they do decide to come back because we could use them, but today, they’re going home. Are all the agents in place in the Cretaceous?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Ava. “I’ve put all the level ten protocols in place. The Waverider’s crash pulled a number of anachronisms with it. This is one of the worst combined mass anachronisms we’ve had to tackle.”

“We’ve been building up to it for a while,” said Rip. “We always knew it would be a tough one because of its sheer scale, but we’ve got a good plan of action. If everyone does their jobs, we’ll be fine, and I know none of you will let me down.”

Agent Sharpe gave him a curt nod and went to supervise the team in the Cretaceous. Wrangling dinosaurs was always an interesting proposition but the Bureau had become quite good at it. There was a lot of history before humanity evolved and it made sense that the Bureau spent a considerable amount of its time removing dinosaurs and other prehistoric creatures from wherever the time storm had flung them.

“I really can’t persuade you to give yourself a few more days?” asked TC.

“Sorry, but no. Five years ago, I set myself on this path and if I don’t close the loop at the right moment, I’m causing more problems for us. Ever since the time storm, the timeline has been more fragile. I can’t risk deviating even slightly from what I know to have happened the first time around.”

TC let out a long sigh. “Fine, I guess time wants to happen, like you always say, but I want you to take the afternoon off. You need less stress and more relaxation time in your life.”

“It’s a shame that I doubt the Legends will give me either of those,” replied Rip, forlornly. “But I will follow your instructions and take the afternoon off once I’m back from dropping off the Waverider.”

“Good, and don’t forget that tomorrow is blood test day,” said TC.

“How could I ever?” replied Rip, with some sarcasm.

TC gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and left, going towards the elevator. Rip’s fingers went to his Time Courier.

“Sun glasses, sir,” reminded Agent Pan, who was joining his LA clean-up team.

“Ah, yes, thank you, Agent Pan,” said Rip, pulling out the dark glasses and putting them on.

TC would have shouted at him for forgetting them. His eyes were still light sensitive, and he’d prefer not to be blinded by the sun as he stepped through the portal. This wasn’t going to be an easy conversation with the Legends and he needed every advantage. For him it had been five long years; for them it had been fifteen minutes since he’d taken the jump-ship.

He opened the portal and stepped through. There they stood, amidst the chaos, just as he remembered them. He’d rather have done this another way, and had a proper reunion with his old friends, but that wasn’t going to be. He needed them to be angry with him and so for this to work, he had to be his most arrogant, annoying self. He had to behave like the Time Master who had brought them all on board the Waverider all those years ago.

“Well, you really have buggered everything up this time,” he proclaimed to the waiting Legends. That would do it. He could already see Sara bristling with annoyance, as he rather proudly watched his agents dealing with the anachronisms.

Now he just had to send the Legends home and hope he could stay on his feet long enough for them to have no idea about his recent illness. If they were aware of how ill he’d been then he had no doubt they’d want to come back to the Bureau and he couldn’t have that yet. They seemed to just decide that his rather severe haircut and lack of beard was a fashion choice, and he was quite glad of that. He was also rather relieved to finally have got to the point that the time loop that he’d been part of for the last five years had reached its close. It was nice to have his free will returned to him, even if he knew all the reasons why he was creating the time loop. He only had himself to blame.

He just had to deliver the Waverider to his earlier self and then he could go back to the office and fall asleep on his couch. He was quite looking forwards to that.

***

TC looked at Rip’s latest blood test results with disbelief. The white cell count was up after nearly five months of being normal.

“You’re sure, Gideon?” he asked.

“I am,” replied the AI, as if he hadn’t just asked the most idiotic question in the world. Of course, she was sure, she was a computer and pretty much infallible.

“And I’m not reading it wrong?” asked TC, actually hoping that he’d made a mistake for once.

“I’m afraid not,” said Gideon.

“Have you told him?” asked TC.

“No,” said Gideon. “Would you like me to?”

TC shook his head. “No, as CMO, this is my responsibility.” He took a breath. Emotion was darkly churning in his stomach because this wasn’t good news, and over the years TC had begun to regard Rip as a friend. “I really thought we’d beaten it. What went wrong?”

“Unknown,” replied Gideon. “It appears the treatment was not as effective as we had hoped.”

“So, can we try again? Reformulate the chemotherapy? Or are we on to radiation and a bone marrow transplant?” asked TC.

“We can try more chemotherapy. He may get another period of remission at least. I have already searched for a suitable bone marrow donor using the national and international registries and been unable to find a match. This is not surprising given that he does not originate in this time period,” said Gideon.

“Rip’s not from this era?” asked TC. He’d honestly never really thought about when the Director was born. He’d known he was a time traveller, but he’d just assumed he came from the 21st Century or round about then.

“No,” replied Gideon, and said nothing more. Apparently, that was all the information he was going to get.

“What about family?” asked TC.

“The Director has no living family that he is aware of,” said Gideon.

“Living family? So, he did have family?” asked TC.

“The Director’s wife and son will be murdered in 2166. This event took place in the Director’s subjective timeline seven years ago,” said Gideon.

TC frowned. Rip was a widower and he’d had a child. He’d never once mentioned that in the entirety of their acquaintance. It explained quite a lot actually.

The Director had always been reticent to join in social events, especially ones that took place outside the Bureau and involved agents’ families. However, he’d happily grant agents days off for their kids’ birthdays, and he’d practically insisted that Agent Genou should skip the mission to the Great Wall of China to attend his daughter’s first birthday. Agent Sharpe hadn’t been quite so understanding, and Rip had very curtly pointed out that children only had one first birthday and when it was missed it was gone. Time travel was not for personal use. Everyone had been slightly taken aback by that, and Ava had backed down. TC wondered now if Rip had missed his own son’s first birthday, and that was the reason for the strength of his reaction.

The Bureau also had a great maternity leave policy, that Rip had ensured was better than the law required in every way, including that fathers could take paternity leave to spend time with their partner and new baby. Rip was also known to always send generous baby gifts when an agent or their partner had a child. He had no problem with agents making time for their family life, but would occasionally become quiet and shut himself in his office if the subject of family was mentioned. TC had got the impression that Rip loved kids, but he couldn’t bring himself to be around them, and now he knew why.

“He tried to save them, didn’t he?” asked TC, sadly.

“On a number of occasions. The final attempt culminated in his recruitment of the Legends and their killing of Vandal Savage, the man responsible for the murders. Savage was a despotic tyrant bent on world domination,” said Gideon.

“I’m aware of who Vandal Savage is. I’d read the Bureau files on him. I thought that was the only reason Rip recruited the Legends. I mean, that’s what he tells everyone,” said TC.

“Director Hunter prefers to keep his personal life private,” replied Gideon. “I only informed you of this because you needed to know for medical reasons. I trust you will keep this confidential. The only other people at the Bureau aware of Director Hunter’s loss are Director Baxter and Dr De La Cruz.”

“He told Landry?” asked TC, slightly surprised by that.

“I included it in the medical history that I provided to Dr De La Cruz, with Director Hunter’s permission,” said Gideon.

TC nodded. That made sense. Gideon would always try to do the best for the Director, and she’d know that was something he’d probably need help with.

“You’re a good friend to him,” said TC.

“I try to be,” replied Gideon. “As an AI, I am not always in tune with human emotions.”

“You’re more in tune that some people I know,” said TC, thinking about Ava Sharpe.

“That has been said before. Usually in regard to Director Hunter,” said Gideon.

“Possibly unfairly,” said TC. “Can you tell the Director that I need to see him?”

“Of course, Dr Callahan,” said Gideon.

TC looked down at the test results again. He had a lot to discuss with his patient.

“I’ll go to him,” he said, folding the piece of paper.

Rip had been tired again lately, which probably should have tipped him off to the bad news coming but no one really wanted to admit that the remission was anything but permanent. TC had very rarely seen patients beat Leukaemia that returned. Whilst Rip had probably had a decent chance of defeating the disease the first time around, this changed everything.

TC headed down from the Infirmary level to Rip’s office, where the Time Bureau Director was sat at his desk, examining the anachronism board on his screen. TC knocked on the glass of the door, and Rip looked up.

“Dr Callahan, come in,” said Rip. “Gideon informed me that you were on your way.”

TC entered the office and closed the door behind him. He stood for a second before pulling out one of the leather and steel chairs that Rip kept for visitors and sitting. Rip was tapping at his keyboard, finishing up whatever he’d been doing when TC arrived.

“I got your latest blood test results back. It’s not good news,” said TC. “Your white cell count is up again.”

Rip’s full attention was on him now, and his fingers had stilled. “It’s back?”

TC nodded.

Rip took a deep breath. “I did wonder. I’ve felt more tired rather than less lately. What are my options?”

“Another course of chemo to start with,” said TC. “Or we try to find you a bone marrow donor for a transplant. Gideon’s already checked the national and international donor registry, but there aren’t any matches on it. We might need to look further afield or try to find a family member…”

“I’m sure Gideon has already told you that I don’t have any living blood relatives that I know of,” said Rip.

“No, but we’re the Time Bureau, Rip,” said TC. “You must have had parents.”

Rip shrugged. “I must have, but I honestly don’t know who they were. The Time Masters never saw fit to let us know exactly where they collected us from.”

“I don’t understand. Collected from? I thought you just worked for the Time Masters…” said TC.

“I did,” replied Rip. “I was also raised by them, in one of their orphanages. They took unwanted children from across time. Orphans. Children who were unimportant to the timeline. I was busy starving to death in London when they found me.” He shrugged as if that was no big deal. “All I really remember was that I was on the streets from roughly the age of five, probably somewhere during the reign of Elizabeth I.”

“Wait, you’re from Elizabethan England?” asked TC, picking just one of the things in that reply to be perturbed by had been difficult, but that was the final point.

Rip shrugged. “Probably. I honestly don’t really remember who the monarch was. I was mostly just trying to stay alive.”

“So, trying to track down your parents would be pretty much impossible?”

“Yes, and possibly dangerous to me,” said Rip. “I have numerous enemies and it’s better for everyone if none of us know who the others are. And I’d rather avoid any disruptions to whatever happened to produce me.”

“I can see that,” said TC. “You didn’t have any siblings either then?”

“Not as far as I’m aware,” said Rip. “If there were then I’d imagine tracking them down would be even harder.”

“Gideon mentioned that you had a son…” TC asked tentatively, and the moment he said the words he regretted them because Rip’s entire demeanour changed. He looked away and seemed to have to gather himself together before he could answer.

“Yes, his name was Jonas,” said Rip, quietly. “He was eight when he died. He’d… He’d have been fifteen now.”

Rip got to his feet and turned away. He went to the shelf behind his desk and opened a wooden box. He took out a gold pocket watch, cradling it in his hands with a reverence that TC had never seen him use with anything else. He pressed down on the winder and the case opened. Rip looked down at it and TC could see that there was a picture in the case. Rip brought it back to the desk to show TC and he handed the watch to the doctor.

“Miranda and Jonas,” he said, their names intoned with deep love.

TC looked at the small picture of the smiling, dark-haired woman, and the sandy haired boy. He could see the resemblance to Rip in his son, and the sadness he felt for the Time Bureau Director was like a someone had punched him in the stomach.

“They’re a beautiful family. I’m sorry you lost them,” he said, and it sounded so inadequate that he wished he had the right words to add something more, but he had no idea what might have helped. He knew that whatever he’d said, it wouldn’t make a dent in the pain that Rip was still in. TC could see a continuing story of hurt written on his face and he hated himself for the conversation he needed to have next.

“I miss them very much,” said Rip, softly.

TC handed the watch back. Rip looked at it one last time, running a finger down the edge of the picture, and then snapped the case shut. He moved stiffly and put it back in the box on the shelf.

“I know this is hard, and I can only suggest this because we’re the Time Bureau, but I asked about Jonas because there’s a strong possibility that he would be a match for bone marrow donation,” said TC. He took a deep breath and leaned forwards on his chair. He knew what he was about to ask was not something that Rip would want to hear. “Is there any way we could go to them…?”

Rip spun around on the spot, anger in his eyes. “He was a child! I’m not going to send someone to intrude upon the short life that he has to ask him to undergo a medical procedure for his father! I know you’re my doctor and you’re trying to find a way to help me, but no! No one is to go anywhere near my family!”

TC’s head drooped. He hadn’t wanted to hurt Rip further, but it was his duty to make the request and at least present the option.

“I understand. I lost my brother to a sniper in Afghanistan, and I know that’s not the same as losing a child…” TC shook his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Rip let out an annoyed sigh, and TC knew he wasn’t annoyed at him. “No, I should apologise for my reaction. It’s been seven years since I realised that I could never save them, no matter what I did, but I still feel their loss deeply. I’ve come to realise that I will never be over it, but at least I have enough distance now that I can move on with my life. I’m sorry.”

TC nodded. “I’ll start looking for another potential donor. We haven’t exhausted all the possibilities yet.”

Rip sat down in his chair heavily, and he looked worn out. Tired to his very bones.

“So, more chemotherapy. Worse than last time because my body is already at a lower ebb?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so,” said TC. “We’ll do everything we can to help you through it though.”

“I know you will,” said Rip. “There are a few things that I need to clear off my desk before we start again, and I will need your permission to go on a couple of rather important field assignments.”

“We can maybe hold off for a week, perhaps two, but I don’t want to leave it any longer than that,” said TC.

“A week is all I need,” replied Rip, with a slight incline of his head.

“Okay,” said TC. “I’ll book you in for starting chemo again next week.”

Rip nodded, and TC took the lack of further conversation as his dismissal. He still had a lot of trouble reading Rip, and the man was often impenetrable, but he didn’t like his silence or the way he was staring at a fixed point in the distance. Rip Hunter was only human, despite what his agents would have people believe.

***

There was a commotion in the atrium. Apparently today was the day that the Legends had decided to turn up. He’d been taking his morning nap on his couch when Gideon had awoken him to let him know that Sara, Ray and Nate were in the elevator.

“Director, Miss Lance, Doctor Palmer and Doctor Heywood are in the building and have just entered the elevator,” said Gideon.

“Is Agent Sharpe aware?” he asked.

“Of course,” said Gideon. “I’m assuming that I should return to the Waverider at this point.”

“As much as I hate to lose you, yes. They need you more than I do,” said Rip, sitting himself up and trying to ignore the dizzy feeling.

“That is debateable,” replied Gideon.

“I need you to be on the Waverider,” said Rip. “Someone has to keep an eye on them. If everything goes according to plan, then I have quite a busy day ahead of me.”

“You think they’re really going to steal the Waverider?” asked Gideon.

“Well, _I_ did, didn’t I?” he pointed out. “By all accounts, Sara is bored witless in her minimum wage job and so are Ray and Nate in their lives. I’m not at all surprised that they’re here.”

“Oh dear,” said Gideon. “Agent Sharpe has just pulled a gun on them.”

“What?!” he asked, with alarm. “Bollocks. This would have been much easier if I could just have briefed everyone on what needs to happen.”

“That would rather ruin the rest of the plan,” said Gideon. “Please take care while I am away. Gilbert is not as sophisticated in his emotional subroutines as I am, and he is less inclined to nag you about your health.”

“I’ll miss you too, Gideon,” said Rip, with a small smile. He pulled on his jacket, trying to look as together as possible. “Don’t get too comfortable with the Legends.”

“Of course not,” said Gideon. “I will be in regular contact, as agreed.”

“Understood,” replied Rip, just as he heard shouting from outside his office.

He rapidly headed out of the office and to the atrium, where the Legends were being held at gunpoint by Agent Sharpe. Rip quickly defused the situation although not before Nate had pushed him against a wall and demanded the reason why he’d sent Amaya back to 1942. Normally he wouldn’t have cared, the Legends tended to resort to violence rather quickly, but he was going to bruise badly from the push and the arm against his neck wouldn’t help matters. His agents were also rather protective of him and it was making a dangerous situation worse for everyone. Ava sent him an annoyed look when he once again told everyone to stand down.

From there, everything went almost exactly according to plan. The Legends took the Waverider and set off to find Julius Caesar and return him to his proper place in the timeline. There was a small hiccup along the way though.

“You’re not leaving HQ,” said Ava.

“I’m fine and they’ll react better to this intervention if I’m there,” said Rip, hoping he wasn’t about to be proven wrong. The team were probably quite angry with him and that was how he needed them.

“You should be starting treatment in the Infirmary, sir,” Ava pointed out. He’d had to inform her about his Leukaemia returning, but he was really beginning to wish he’d been able to keep it secret for a little longer.

“The good doctor and I have an understanding,” replied Rip.

“With respect, sir, Callahan needs his head examined,” said Ava.

“In this case, the good of the timeline comes before my health. We need to correct the Legend’s mistake,” said Rip.

“This doesn’t need your personal attention. If you’d allowed me to escort them out of the building when they first arrived then we wouldn’t be in this situation,” said Ava. “At the very least you should have let me charge Dr Heywood with assault. You’ve got bruises.”

“I bruise easily at the moment,” said Rip. Most of the bruises would be hidden by his collar, but hopefully the Legends just wouldn’t notice the others. He really just needed to get through this mission and then he’d let TC do his worst.

“Gideon’s going to be angry at me for allowing this to happen,” said Ava, with annoyance. “She made me promise that I’d keep an eye on you.”

Rip’s eyes widened. “Did she now? Well, I can assure you that was totally unnecessary. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“Yes, sir,” said Ava, turning away, and Rip wasn’t certain he liked the tone of her reply at all.

He opened a portal to the Waverider and they entered the ship, and together with the Legends, they put Julius Caesar back where he belonged, minus his memory of recent events. There was considerable clean up, and Ava was thoroughly annoyed with him for letting things get as far as they had.

Rip was also somewhat annoyed that the Legends had made a thorough pigs ear of the mission, but it was too late now to complain. He was going to put it down to their being rusty from six months of down time. It meant that when he left the Waverider with them, Ava was understandably baffled. On the strength of that performance alone he’d have thrown them in the cells like Ava wanted, but luckily, they’d passed the main audition long before he set up the Time Bureau.

He rather sadly returned to the Time Bureau, leaving Gideon with her charges, unable to even say good bye to her in case someone was watching.

***

The Legends returned to the bridge of the Waverider in high spirits.

“Did you see his face?” asked Jax, with a laugh.

“Yeah, he didn’t look quite so smug,” said Nate.

“Guys, I’m really not sure we should have just left him there,” said Ray. “He was shivering.”

“The Time Pigs can come and get him. He’ll be fine, haircut,” said Mick, who had already got a beer from somewhere.

Sara headed for the pilot’s chair, powering up the engines. “Gideon, put a call through to the Time Bureau and let them know they can find Rip in cells of the local police station.”

“The police station, Captain Lance?” asked Gideon, a slight edge to her tone.

“Yeah, I’m sure little-miss-goody-two-shoes can open a portal in the right cell and get him home,” said Sara.

The engines powered down, and then the lights turned off.

“Gideon?” asked Sara.

“Agents from the Time Bureau are en route, Miss Lance,” said Gideon. “Please provide them with the Director’s exact location co-ordinates when they get here.”

“When did I become a “miss”?” asked Sara.

Gideon was utterly silent.

“Did the computer just rat us out to the Time Pigs?” asked Mick, with a menacing growl to his voice.

A number of doorways rimmed in white light opened and suddenly the Legends found themselves surrounded on all sides by armed Time Bureau agents. Agent Sharpe was the last one to step through.

“Guys, I can’t steel up,” said Nate.

“I took the precaution of nullifying your powers,” said Agent Sharpe. “This ridiculous arrangement that you have with the Director is over, and if he has been harmed in any way then I will personally lock you in the Time Bureau cells and throw away the keys. Give me the co-ordinates, Miss Lance.”

“Hey, this is all a big misunderstanding,” said Sara. “He’s fine. We were locked up with him. We just left him to make his own way home.”

“From a police cell?” said Agent Sharpe, with a dark tone. “You left him in a police cell. Without his Time Courier or any means of contacting us.”

Sara shrugged. “It’s Rip, he’s resourceful, and we called you as soon as we got back to the Waverider. No harm done.”

“You have no idea what your stupid prank may have done,” said Agent Sharpe. “The co-ordinates.”

Sara rolled her eyes, but reeled off the co-ordinates.

“Agent Green, Dr Callahan,” said Agent Sharpe. “If the area is clear, you can open a portal directly into the Infirmary. I’ll accept responsibility.”

Sara watched as Gary opened a new portal, and he and a rather good looking, dark haired agent in a navy jumpsuit with the Time Bureau logo on the breast pocket, carrying a bag with a medical symbol on it, stepped through. On the other side of the portal she could see the grey walls of the police station that they’d just left. The portal closed behind them.

Sara frowned. “I don’t understand. Rip was fine when we left him.”

“That’s the problem, you don’t understand. You think time travel is a fun jaunt and you ignore the reason we have rules. The Director has been protecting your little team for some reason that he refuses to divulge. Well, I am ending that right now. You just actively endangered his life, and that’s more than enough reason for me to take you in. Agent Pan, arrest them and put them in the brig for now.” Agent Sharpe turned around. “Gideon, please power up the engines. I’ll take the Waverider back to HQ.”

“Yes, Agent Sharpe,” said Gideon.

“You too, Gideon?” said Sara, with a touch of hurt. An agent approached her and indicated that she should move towards the brig.

“Director Hunter’s welfare is my primary concern,” replied Gideon.

“I don’t understand what the problem is,” said Jax, as he and the others were also ushered off the bridge. “Rip was fine. He’s been locked in cells before now and he’s pretty good at getting out of them. Come on, Gideon!”

Gideon was silent again.

“This doesn’t make any sense. If Rip told you to leave us alone, why are you arresting us now?” asked Ray.

“Because I can,” said Agent Sharpe.

Sara planted her feet. “Enough. I’m not moving until you give me an explanation for what’s going on here. Where’s Rip? I want to talk to him now.”

“What is it with you people wanting to be shot?” asked Agent Sharpe.

“Time Bureau HQ reports that Director Hunter, Agent Green and Dr Callahan have returned safely,” said Gideon.

Sara frowned. She could have sworn that Agent Sharpe looked relieved.

She turned to the blonde agent. “I’m not stupid. You brought a doctor with you. You came expecting to find something had happened to him. We didn’t leave him that long ago, and you can open a portal to the moment we left anyway. Nothing _could_ have happened to him in the time between us leaving and you arriving, which means something already had. What are you hiding from us?”

“I think the Director would understand if you inform them of his condition at this point,” said Gideon, her avatar appearing above the central console.

Agent Sharpe glanced towards Gideon and sighed. “The Director is ill. He wasn’t supposed to be out in the field, but he insisted, and Dr Callahan authorised some limited stimulant use.”

“Shit,” said Sara, with feeling. “And we left him in a cell…” She met the eyes of her team mates and she could tell that they all felt as bad as she did. “Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know,” said Agent Sharpe.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Jax. “You said he was ill, but you didn’t say with what.”

“Cancer, Mr Jackson. The Director has cancer,” said Agent Sharpe, with a biting bitterness that was harsh even for her.

No one said anything to that. The shock factor was too great. The Legends just looked at each other with distinct guilt. Sara didn’t feel like fighting this anymore. She allowed herself to be moved towards the brig, the other Legends trailing after her. They’d hurt a friend, unintentionally, but it had happened. They filed into the brig without offering any further resistance.

“We suck,” said Jax, as the agents closed the door on them.

The team arranged themselves around the single cell, mostly sat on the floor, with Mick claiming the lone bench. Only Sara was stood leaning against the glass wall by the door.

“I did voice my disapproval at the time,” said Martin. “But no one ever listens to what I say.”

Jax put a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Grey. I guess we all got carried away.”

“Hey, he took our ship and disbanded the team. We were mad at him for a reason,” said Nate.

“You all behaved like a bunch of children,” said Zari. “If I’d been there…”

“But you weren’t,” said Amaya, curtly.

“In my time, we didn’t leave out friends in jail cells,” said Zari, arms folded over her chest. She looked displeased. “Because if we did, they died.”

“Rip wasn’t in any danger,” said Nate. “How were we supposed to know that he was sick?”

“By looking at him,” said Sara, suddenly angry, at least partly with herself. “He was shivering. None of the rest of us were. None of us thought to ask why.”

“Why do you care?” asked Mick. “He’s the head Time Pig now. They’re the enemy.”

Sara rounded on Mick. “Rip is not the enemy. He’s our friend, and we just treated him pretty badly. If the Time Bureau want to take the ship from us now, I’m going to let them.”

Ray shrugged. “I’ve got to agree with Sara. The Time Bureau have every right to be mad at us. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Agent Sharpe that angry. They care about Rip.”

“A lot more than we do, apparently,” said Sara. And silence descended on the brig.

***

Rip awoke in an Infirmary bed, and ran an annoyed hand across his face. He felt terrible. He was cold and worn, with aching limbs and a slightly queasy feeling in his stomach. He’d overdone it on the stimulants and TC was going to be rather cross with him. He turned his head to find Agent Sharpe sat next to him.

“Your former team are a liability and I have no idea how you ever worked with that chaotic bunch of losers,” said Agent Sharpe, without preamble.

“Agent Sharpe,” he murmured. “Thank you for the retrieval.”

“If your “friends” hadn’t left you there, I wouldn’t have had to send Gary to get you,” said Ava.

“What did you do with them?” asked Rip, tiredly.

“They’re in the brig on the Waverider,” said Ava.

“Let them out,” he said, tiredly. “They didn’t know I was ill or taking stimulants. They didn’t put me in danger intentionally.”

“That isn’t the point, sir,” said Ava. “You don’t play games in the field.”

“You have met the Legends, haven’t you?” replied Rip, slightly teasing.

“They don’t get a free pass. We have rules. They could have got you killed,” said Ava.

“But they didn’t, and they called you the moment they got back to the ship,” said Rip. “Everything was fine.”

“Which is why Gary and Callahan found you barely conscious, lying shivering on a bench,” said Ava.

“I knew you’d come and get me,” replied Rip. “The regulations on leaving anachronistic agents in the field are quite clear.”

“We were concerned for your health,” said Ava. “Callahan has rescinded all permissions for you to go into the field, which is shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted if you ask me, but at least you can’t do it again. Sir.” The “sir” was added with barely concealed contempt and reminded him of when Gideon was angry with him and called him “Captain” in exactly the same tone of voice. He missed Gideon.

Rip ran a hand through his short tuft of hair and let out a sigh. “I’d always assumed that this would be my last mission for a while.”

“You’re going to give them the Waverider again, aren’t you?” asked Ava, with annoyance.

“Yes, because we still need our chainsaw and they need the practice,” said Rip.

“Their practice is screwing up the timeline,” replied Ava. “We’re quite capable of managing without them. I don’t understand why you insist on letting them run amok through time.”

“They’re not that bad. They usually get the job done,” said Rip.

“They started a prison riot in 2042,” said Ava.

“I’m aware of their mistakes, Agent Sharpe,” replied Rip. “Please, just do as I ask. Let them go, give them a few days to see their families and then let them have the Waverider.”

“There might be a problem with that,” said Ava.

“And what would that be?” asked Rip.

“Gideon is furious with them,” said Ava. “I had to tell her to set the brig back to a reasonable temperature.”

“I’ll talk to her,” said Rip, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Good luck with that,” said Ava, making it clear that she thought his chances of any kind of reconciliation were slim.

Speaking of people being angry, TC was approaching, and Rip doubted he was going to enjoy the conversation that followed. It was probably going to include a lecture on stimulant abuse and a reminder that he was starting the new round of chemotherapy tomorrow.

“I think that’s my cue to go and release the Legends,” said Ava, also eyeing the approaching doctor.

His Senior Field Agent and Chief Medical Officer had never gotten along. This had probably only made things worse. Ava moved away, hopefully heading off to do as she’d said.

Rip pushed himself up on his elbows, his head swimming. He gave himself a moment for the dizziness to subside and then moved into a proper sitting position, just as TC reached his bed. The doctor adjusted the pillows and bed head without a word.

“I know I was stupid…” said Rip.

“Damn right you were,” said TC, cutting off the start of Rip’s apology. “I only let you do this on the understanding that you would take one dose and no more. Instead, you got Gilbert to fabricate you more, and I don’t know where to start with how much of an idiot that makes you. You are being treated for Leukaemia. Your body is weaker than normal, which is why I only authorised one dose, and I’m regretting even doing that now. You could have had a heart attack, and those people you were with, I’m not sure that they’d have even stopped to pick you up off the floor.” His voice had increased in volume as his rant continued.

“The Legends are not bad people, TC,” said Rip. “They’re just rather cross with me at the moment. If they’d known that I was ill, then they’d never have left me on my own.”

“I only have your word for that, and you don’t have the best record when it comes to judging character,” said TC. “You recruited Ava Sharpe, for starters.”

“I also recruited you,” replied Rip.

“Which is beside the point. I am never prescribing stimulants for you again, full stop. You can’t be trusted,” said TC, with anger and a touch of disappointment.

Rip sunk into the pillows behind him. “You’re not the first person to say that. When can I leave?”

“Tomorrow morning, after I’ve made sure that your heart wasn’t damaged, and you’ve slept. I will sedate you if I have to,” threatened TC.

Rip gave him an annoyed look. “You do realise that I can fire you?”

“Director, even you’re not stupid enough to fire me for doing my job,” said TC, who was very angry still apparently, because that was supposed to have been a joke. “I can’t believe we’re going through this again. I thought you got it through your head the first time. You have Leukaemia. You’re sick. You need to slow down.”

“That’s just it,” said Rip. “I know what the chances are of my Leukaemia going into remission a second time, and I’m not going to rest and take things easy with the time I have left.”

“Rip…”

“Please, don’t try to placate me. I’m quite capable of researching my own condition with the Bureau’s medical databases,” said Rip.

“It’s nowhere near hopeless yet,” said TC, looking less angry now.

“Yes, I understand that, but it is different this time,” said Rip. “For starters, I don’t have the certainty of a time loop to give me confidence in my own survival.”

“I’m still looking for a bone marrow donor and pretty much the entire Bureau have come in to get tested. I’m going through the results now,” said TC.

“I’m not getting my hopes up,” said Rip, turning away from TC. He felt suddenly exposed and despondent. He’d spent too much time in the Infirmary lately when he should have been out finding a way to defeat Mallus.

“Rip, I know it’s hard, but you have to keep fighting,” said TC.

“Why?” asked Rip, turning back to TC with anger in his own eyes now. “Why do I have to keep fighting? I literally have nothing left to live for. All I have is my work, and the Time Bureau can function perfectly well without me.”

“You also have me, Director,” said a familiar voice from a speaker behind him. “And I would prefer you not to give up just yet.”

“Gideon? I thought you were still on the Waverider,” he said, happiness and slight disbelief in his tone.

“I wanted to visit,” replied the AI. “I’m rather glad the Legends are now aware that I was reporting to you.”

“Ah,” said Rip. “I’m really happy that you’re here, but I am going to need you to go back to them.”

“They could have killed you,” said Gideon, indignantly.

“They didn’t do it intentionally,” said Rip.

“At this point they’re little better than Time Pirates,” said Gideon, who seemed to be very displeased with her charges.

“Gideon, give them a second chance, please,” said Rip. “It was partly my own fault.”

“They didn’t have to be so happy about leaving you behind,” said Gideon, sounding really quite cross.

“I was purposefully rude to them. It’s no wonder they were amused by my predicament,” said Rip.

“I don’t understand why you’re defending them,” replied Gideon.

“Because we used to be friends,” said Rip. “And I turned them against me. It was my choice. Now, please, do as I ask.”

“Very well, Director,” said Gideon, a touch of resignation in her tone. “But I will expect them to apologise.”

“That’s between you and them, Gideon,” said Rip. “I won’t demand it of them.”

“I’m sure that they will see my point of view,” said Gideon.

“I’m sure they will,” replied Rip, because he knew exactly how persuasive Gideon could be when she was feeling mean.

“Gideon,” said TC. “The Director needs to rest.”

“Understood, Doctor Callahan. Further discussion of the Legends can wait until tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Gideon,” said TC. “Get some sleep, Director. You’ll feel better for it.”

Rip nodded, pulling the blankets up around him and settling down. He was tired, and he did need the rest. Maybe things would look better tomorrow.

***

Sara and the rest of the Legends had been allowed out of the brig as soon as they’d landed back in Star City. She’d slept on the Waverider, and no one had even hung around to guard the Legends. She supposed that made sense. Unless Gideon was on their side then the Waverider wasn’t going anywhere, and she definitely wasn’t on their side at the moment. She wasn’t even answering when Sara called. Sara couldn’t really blame her for that either, although she was kind of annoyed with Rip for having a spy in their camp for all this time.

A Time Bureau agent offered them the opportunity to visit their friends and family so Martin and Jax had decided to head back to Central City. Sara didn’t feel like stopping in to see Team Arrow right now, so she left the remaining Legends on the ship in the early afternoon and went exploring. She roughly remembered her way around the Time Bureau after Rip had shown them around. She ended up in the atrium, watching the holographic Time Bureau logo spin. She was getting some black looks from the agents around her, although they’d obviously been told to leave her be unless she went somewhere she shouldn’t. Gary stepped up beside her.

“Miss Lance,” said Gary, with a little trepidation.

“Gary,” replied Sara.

“I can escort you to the exit if you’d like to leave to see your family,” he suggested.

She shook her head. “I want to see Rip. Is he okay?”

Gary grimaced. “The Director was at work this morning.”

That wasn’t exactly an answer. She’d seen Rip leave the Waverider medbay after Cognitive Intrusion, put his work clothes back on, sit down at his old desk and start working out how best to retrieve the next bit of the Spear. He hadn’t been well, she’d known that, but she knew he wouldn’t stop just because she asked him to. Rip didn’t know how to slow down, even when he wasn’t a hundred percent.

She folded her arms across her chest. “So where is he now?”

“Er, he’ll be…” and Gary checked his watch. “In the Infirmary.”

“Where’s that?” asked Sara.

Gary looked a little panicked as he probably realised he shouldn’t have told Sara that.

“I’m not sure he wants visitors right now,” said Gary.

“Okay, but I’d like to ask him that,” said Sara.

Gary shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I’m worried about him, Gary. He’s our friend,” said Sara.

“Friends don’t leave friends in jail,” said Gary, any good will disappearing from his face. “Or hold guns to people’s heads.”

Sara sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry that I did that. I probably shouldn’t have, but the Time Bureau haven’t exactly been on our side.”

“We protect the timeline, Miss Lance, we’re just doing our jobs,” said Gary. “You keep breaking the rules, so you have to expect us to at least keep an eye on what you’re doing. If it wasn’t for Director Hunter protecting you then Agent Sharpe would already have confiscated your ship.”

“The Director is protecting us?”

Gary nodded. “He told Agent Sharpe that she could keep an eye on you, but that she wasn’t to take the Waverider from you. He’s been a little distracted lately, though… She might have got a bit carried away.”

“You fired on us!” said Sara.

“You tried to ram us!” replied Gary, with hurt in his eyes. “And the Director was quite angry when he found out that Agent Sharpe had fired on the Waverider.”

Sara’s eyebrows raised. “Huh, well that’s something I guess.”

“The thing is, Director Hunter is kind of important to us…” said Gary, and stopped.

“And we hurt him,” said Sara, at least understanding.

“It’s not just that,” said Gary. “He’s ill because he was dealing with an anachronism, and a lot of the agents here regard that as your fault. We know about Thawne and the Spear, but it was ultimately your decision, even if the rest of the Legends agreed with you.”

“So, you’re saying people don’t like us because Rip got sick fixing our mistakes?” asked Sara.

Gary nodded. “They’d prefer you weren’t allowed back on the Waverider at all.”

“We’re trying to help,” said Sara.

“Then you should join the training program and qualify as an agent,” said Gary. “It’s what everyone else had to do.”

“We’ve already been doing this for two years. We don’t need a training course, we need people to stop shooting at us,” said Sara, crossly.

Gary let out a long breath.

“Look,” said Sara. “We do care about “Director Hunter” too. We just happen to think he can also be an idiotic asshole.”

She trailed off as she watched Eve Baxter approach. The woman was wearing a crisp black suit, with one of the shorter skirts Sara had ever seen on an item of otherwise perfectly reasonable office wear.

“You’re not alone in that assessment,” said Eve. “Deputy Director Eve Baxter. I don’t think we had the pleasure on the Acheron.”

“The Acheron?” asked Sara. “You’re Captain Baxter? You’re a Time Master, like Rip was.”

“ _Former_ Time Master, but yes. Apparently Rip wants to see you, and Dr Callahan seems to think a visitor might do him some good,” said Eve. “I’ll take her up, Gary.”

“Thank you, Deputy Director,” said Gary, and bowed out, leaving Sara with Eve.

“This way,” said Eve, indicating the elevator.

Sara headed towards the elevator, where Eve pressed the button for the floor above.

“Are you going to tell me what happened to Rip?” asked Sara.

“Which time?” asked Eve, as they got in, and the doors shut behind them.

“Gary said he’s sick because of something that happened on a mission.”

Eve gave Sara an assessing look. “Directors aren’t really supposed to go into the field, but Hunter’s never really played by the book, even the one he wrote himself. It’s going to get him into more trouble if he keeps doing it.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” said Sara.

“About three years ago, he took on a radioactive villain called Blight. He broke his back, fractured his skull and gave him a mild dose of radiation poisoning. Luckily, we have good medical facilities and TC put him back together with Gideon’s help. It took him a couple of months, but he got full mobility back and we thought he was fine. And then, about a year ago, Dr Callahan diagnosed him with radiation induced Leukaemia, so you can put two and two together,” said Eve.

“He’s been sick for a year?” she asked.

“No, he went into remission and it came back recently, but the treatment was pretty unpleasant…” Eve tailed off, looking away. “He can fill you in on the rest himself.”

Sara wasn’t entirely certain that Rip would be willing to do that, but the elevator stopped, and Eve showed her to the Time Bureau’s Infirmary. This proved to be a plush suite of treatment rooms, a ward, some private side rooms for isolation and a few doctors’ offices. Eve led her to a room with medical couches along two wall, where a dark-haired, quite good looking man in navy scrubs appeared to be waiting for them just outside the entrance.

“Dr TC Callahan,” said Eve, by way of introduction. “This is Sara Lance.”

“Yeah, I know who she is,” said TC.

“Is it okay if she visits Director Hunter?” asked Eve.

He nodded to the medical couch furthest from the door. “He’d probably quite like some company when he wakes up. It takes an hour for the full dose to infuse and then he needs to rest for an hour before he can go.”

Sara took a step forwards so that she could see into the room and stopped in the doorway. Rip was sat on one of the medical couches, his shirt sleeves rolled up, with a medical cuff on his right wrist. He was asleep, eyes closed and breathing evenly, a dark blue blanket over his lap and legs. The medical couches here were a bit nicer than the ones on the Waverider, bigger and with a better headrest. She guessed that Rip had probably spent enough time in them that when he came to spec the Time Bureau ones, he knew what to improve. She’d passed a small ward with actual beds in it on her way to this room.

She dropped her head for a moment. This was harder than expected. He actually looked far worse than when she’d seen him the previous day.

Eve Baxter gave her a final look. “I’ll send an agent up to escort you back to the Waverider when you’re finished here.”

“Fine,” said Sara, but her eyes were on Rip.

“You’re not exactly the Bureau’s favourite person right now,” said TC, as Eve walked away.

“He didn’t want us to know that he was ill,” said Sara.

TC shrugged. “He’s stubborn like that.”

“Is this going to work? I mean, he’ll be okay?” she asked.

TC gave her an uncertain look. “I can’t really say much about his condition without his permission, but he’s not well and chemo is rough. I’m looking for a bone marrow donor for him, so if you’d be willing, I can take a blood sample before you go. You’ll have to ask him if you want more details than that.”

“Yeah, he’s not great with handing out personal information,” said Sara.

“Tell me about it,” said TC.

“I’ll give you a blood sample,” added Sara.

“Thank you. Normally we’d be looking at family members but…”

“He doesn’t have any and we’re probably not even in the right time period to track any long-lost relatives down,” finished Sara.

“I asked him if we could send an agent to find someone, but he doesn’t remember much about his parents or what happened to them,” said TC. “I don’t think he’d even know where to start and he wasn’t exactly keen on screwing up the timeline just to get a bone marrow donor.”

“Of course he wasn’t,” said Sara, knowingly.

“Okay, come find me when you’re done. I’ll leave you to say hi, but don’t wake him, he needs all the rest he can get.”

Sara nodded and headed across the room, grabbing one of the Bureau’s leather and chrome chairs as she went. She quietly positioned it beside the medical couch, close, but not so close that she’d knock into him when she sat down. She took her seat and gave herself a moment to look at Rip. Now that she took the time to actually take in his features, she could see that he was unusually pale, with drawn tired lines on his face. She’d thought it was just the lack of beard and the no nonsense haircut, but she could see there was more to it than that. He’d lost weight too, not much, but enough to show, and he’d always been slender. How had she missed that he was this ill when it was there to be seen so plainly? Perhaps she just hadn’t cared to notice. She’d been so angry with him, but it all seemed sort of stupid now.

He stirred in his sleep and his eyes fluttered open, looking around him. She suddenly remembered him waking up in the Medbay, sat in the Cognitive Intrusion chair, and he’d had a very similar perplexed look on his face then.

“Sara?” he asked, with both surprise and puzzlement.

“Hi,” she said, and smiled. “Agent Sharpe ratted you out, and your AI is kind of angry with us. Also, you’re an idiot.”

Rip gave her a frustrated look. “Thank you, that makes me feel so much better. I assume that one of my agents also told you why I’m in the Infirmary?”

“Yeah, and that good-looking doctor you’ve got working here asked me for a blood sample because he’s looking for a bone marrow donor,” said Sara, ignoring the look on Rip’s face at her assessment of TC. “So I know you’re pretty sick and I know that about three years ago you took on a radioactive villain called Blight, and now you have Leukaemia, triggered by the radiation.”

“Yes, everyone was rather unnecessarily cross with me at the time,” said Rip.

“Yeah, well when the boss gets his back broken and his skull fractured by the bad guy, people do tend to get kind of angry,” said Sara.

Rip coughed and reached for the bottle of water beside the couch. His hand trembled, and Sara passed it to him without a word. He sipped it rather than gulping, and Sara replaced it for him when he was done.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Sara. “And what were you even doing going on a mission?”

“I was between chemo rounds, and as you saw, I was totally fine for most of the mission. None of you even picked up on the fact that I was ill,” said Rip, with one of those slightly smug looks he kept in his arsenal of expressions. “And I didn’t tell you because I knew what your reaction would be.”

“You were fine because you were dosing yourself with stimulants, Rip. Gideon had a fit,” said Sara. “Although I get the impression that she was even more angry with Agent Sharpe than us.”

“Ah, yes, well, apparently Gideon made her promise to keep an eye on me and I get the impression that she doesn’t think Agent Sharpe has done a particularly good job,” said Rip.

“She called her a “bitch”,” said Sara.

“Oh dear,” said Rip. “I wonder where she got that from.”

“And knowing how we’d react isn’t exactly an explanation for why you didn’t tell us you were sick,” said Sara. “I’d never have left you in that cell if I’d known.”

“If I’d told you, would you still have taken the Waverider? Would you have been angry enough at me to have gone against the Time Bureau?” asked Rip.

Sara shrugged. “Maybe. You spent five years creating this place without us, Rip. That’s kind of hurtful.”

“That’s how long it took me to put together enough agents and resources to deal with the largest anachronism on the board,” said Rip. “When our future selves created the time storm by meeting with us, the Waverider became the epicentre. The crash in LA pulled objects from the past and future together, and when I found out what had happened, I knew I couldn’t save you on my own. I couldn’t even pilot the jump-ship close enough, the time eddies were so strong. I realise the Bureau agents made it look easy, but you were all in incredible danger.”

“Okay, but you didn’t have to be such a dick about it,” said Sara.

“But I did, because I wanted you to go home. Most of all I hoped that you’d return to your lives and not get caught up in the war that is coming. However, I did have an idea that you wouldn’t want to do that, so I had a plan in place for if you ever decided to come back,” said Rip. “Although I somewhat failed to anticipate how much chaos you would bring to dealing with anachronisms.”

“So, Ray was right, you let us steal the Waverider,” said Sara, ignoring Rip’s comment about their handling of anachronisms.

“Yes, I did, and Gideon has been keeping me up to date with your adventures,” said Rip.

“But why? Why didn’t you just give us the Waverider?”

“Because I didn’t want you to be associated with the Time Bureau. I needed you to be separate, to be my secret weapon. It also makes you less of a target,” said Rip. “I’d still have preferred it if you’d all gone back to your own lives and lived happily ever after. None of you should be putting your lives at risk again.”

“Why would you even think we’d want that?” said Sara. “We broke time. It’s up to us to fix it. We were always going to want back in.”

Rip rolled his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest tiredly. “Apparently so.”

He started to shiver.

“Hey, do you need another blanket?” asked Sara.

“Er, yes, please. They’re in that cupboard over there,” he said, waving in the direction of a cupboard on the opposite side of the room. “I feel the cold a bit at the moment. It’s the anaemia.”

“Which is why you were shivering in that cell…” said Sara, going to the cupboard, and retrieving another of the dark blue blankets.

“You don’t need to feel sorry for me, Sara,” said Rip. “I was there because I needed to be.”

“You didn’t need to be out there at all. What’s the point of having all these agents if you still have to do things yourself, even when you’re sick?” asked Sara. She arranged the blanket across him, while Rip attempted to help ineffectually.

“Agent Sharpe may have said something similar. I think that’s the last time my agents will let me out, if that makes you feel any better.” He sounded disappointed about that.

“I’m actually glad about that. You have people to look out for you,” said Sara.

“I have employees who are concerned about their boss,” said Rip.

Sara smiled at him. “You have people who care about you.”

Rip just gave her a rather tired look.

“How are you? I mean how are you really?” asked Sara.

“Tired,” said Rip. “Mainly, I’m tired, but not the kind of tired that can be fixed with a good night’s sleep. This is the kind of tiredness that nothing fixes. It doesn’t matter how much I sleep or rest. It never gets any better, and I am so fed up with it.”

“That bad?” asked Sara.

“Actually, this is the relatively good bit,” said Rip. “I’m going to feel much worse before TC has finished with me.”

“And will that cure you? How much chemo do you have to do?”

Rip fixed her with a look for a moment, seeming to decide how much he should tell her. Then he looked away.

“I don’t think I’m getting better this time,” he said, almost too quietly for Sara to hear.

“It’s terminal?” she asked, unable to keep some of the shock from her tone.

“The chances of it going into remission again just with the chemo are quite small. TC is looking for a bone marrow donor, but so far he hasn’t had much luck,” said Rip. “At this point I’m thinking of giving up with the chemo and just making sure the Time Bureau is on a good footing before I go.”

Sara frowned at him. “You’re not even going to fight?”

Rip let out a long huff of breath, and replied crossly. “I have been fighting. I’ve already been through three rounds of chemotherapy to get the small period of remission that I enjoyed. It was just long enough for me to resolve the anachronism in LA, send you on your way, and ensure you stole the Waverider. Then I had to start chemotherapy again, with everything that entails. I would like to get through one day without needing a nap, or feeling sick, or my joints aching, and to just be well enough to actually eat a proper meal.”

“Oh Rip,” said Sara, and she took his hand. “There has to be something we can do. We’ve got a time-ship. Can’t we take you to the future and find some better medicine or something?”

Rip shook his head. “There are only limited ways to destroy cancer cells without harming the other cells around them. Gideon formulated the original chemotherapy regimen that I was on and it was the best she could come up with.”

“And it gets worse as you progress through the treatment?”

“Yes, each round is progressively harder on the body. Last time… last time, I spent most of the final round in the Infirmary because I was too weak to get out of bed,” said Rip, looking away at the last moment. “I’m not sure I have enough fight in me to go through it again.”

Sara gave his had a gentle squeeze, just enough to let him know that she was there.

“Hey, you’re Rip Hunter, remember?” she asked. “I’m pretty sure that you can do anything you put your mind to.”

He finally looked back up at her. “Not this time.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to do it for you,” said Sara. “It turns out that the team you assembled is pretty good at solving problems.”

“You can’t cure cancer by kicking it, knifing it, or lighting it on fire, Sara,” said Rip. “And I seriously doubt either Dr Palmer or Professor Stein have the necessary expertise to help me in the time available.”

“We’ll see. I’ll talk it through with the team when I’m back on the Waverider,” said Sara, and pulled out a pack of cards. “Since you’re stuck here for a bit, we might as well play cards.”

Rip gave her another long look. “Fine. We can play cards, but please don’t do anything rash on my behalf.”

“You need to worry less,” said Sara.

“With you lot around, I suspect I need to worry more,” replied Rip, but accepted the hand of cards that Sara dealt him.

***

The solution to Rip’s problem was actually simple, except for the fact that Rip wouldn’t let them save him. The issue was that Rip refused to let anyone anywhere near 2166. The Bureau specifically forbade agents from going to that time unless they had Director Hunter’s permission and TC already knew they wouldn’t get it.

“Look, I understand what you’re saying,” said TC to Professor Martin Stein. The older man had found him in his office and then outlined a plan to treat Rip’s cancer. It was a good plan too, except for one flaw. “I’d already thought about sending agents to get his son’s cord blood, but he doesn’t want anyone anywhere near his family. I don’t even know where his son was born or if they saved the cord blood. In any case, I’m not sure that we could harvest enough cells to treat Director Hunter. That’s the main reason it isn’t used much in adults.”

Martin had come to him with a plan to use stem cells from the umbilical cord blood of Rip’s son, Jonas. A lot of parents arranged for their child’s cord blood to be stored because it was a source of stem cells that could be used to treat a number of diseases. If Jonas’ stem cells were a match, then they could use them to replace Rip’s bone marrow and eradicate his leukaemia.

“If we can get a sample of the cord blood then we can clone additional cells,” said Martin. “It’s a new technology, in its infancy in this century, but Gideon has files on it. I believe we could make it work.”

“There’s no point unless we have his permission, and we don’t,” said TC.

“Then we need to get it,” said Martin.

“He won’t give it. I already talked to him about Jonas as a potential bone marrow donor,” said TC.

“But if we do this correctly, I don’t think either Miranda or Jonas need be aware that we’re anywhere nearby. If they kept Jonas’ cord blood, then they’d have stored it somewhere close to where they lived in case he needed it, usually hospitals would have cryogenic stores. Jonas was… eight or nine when he died?”

“Rip said he was eight,” said TC, with a touch of sadness.

“So, we have eight years in which to retrieve it, given the bombing of London during that period,” said Martin.

“Bombing?” asked TC.

“The Second Blitz,” said Martin. “Not a great time to be in London, and best avoided if at all possible.”

“I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to working here,” said TC. “Okay, so we can probably get it, if they kept it and if Rip gives us his permission. But if we do this, it’s going to have to be you and your team doing it. “Time travel is not for personal use” is one of the Bureau’s strictest rules, and this would definitely count.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” said Martin. “We all enjoy a good rescue mission, which is basically what this is. I’m sure I can persuade the others of its validity. Although Gideon may not be entirely enthusiastic to continue with us.”

“I can talk to Gideon, or Rip can,” said TC. “I think she’ll help if she knows what you’re doing.”

“Assuming you can find her. She appears to have vacated the Waverider,” said Martin.

A medic knocked and poked his head into the office. “TC, Gilbert says we’re needed in Director Hunter’s apartment. He’s running a temperature.”

TC gave Martin a look. “If we’re going to do this thing, then it had better be sooner rather than later. He’s getting weaker by the day, and I never should have let him out of the Bureau.”

“Director Hunter is a law unto himself,” said Martin. “I suspect that if he wanted to do something then he’d find a way around your safeguards.”

TC grabbed his medical bag, heading for the door.

“You’re not wrong,” he replied, “I’ve got to go, but we’ll talk more later.”

“Do you mind if I stay and review Director Hunter’s bloodwork again?” asked Martin.

“Be my guest,” said TC.

He went to see to his patient.

He found Rip, sat in bed, wheezing uncomfortably, and looking thoroughly miserable. His temperature was up, and he shivered, despite the warmth of the room.

“The Director has had trouble catching his breath,” said Gideon’s voice.

Apparently, this was where she’d been hiding. TC wasn’t at all surprised.

“I’m just a little congested,” replied Rip, between wheezes, waving off the concern with a tired hand gesture.

“Again with the medical diagnoses,” said TC, good naturedly, as he got out his stethoscope and listened to Rip’s chest. “You’re more than a little congested, Rip. That sounds like pneumonia to me.”

Rip sighed. “Of course, it was bound to happen at some point.”

“I need to get you on oxygen and antibiotics, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to move you down to the Infirmary,” said TC.

Rip rolled his head back with a defeated huff. “You can’t just treat me here?”

TC shook his head. “You can have your old room back though.”

He decided not to mention that he wasn’t just giving Rip his old room out of sentimentality, but because his white cell counts had been so low on the last blood tests that he was quite concerned about further infections if he put him on the main ward. They were going to have to start proper isolation procedures for immune compromised patients if it got much worse.

“I don’t have much choice, do I?” replied Rip, and he was right. “I’m assuming chemo is suspended too?”

“Yeah, until we can clear this up,” said TC.

“Well, I can be thankful for small mercies at least,” said Rip.

It brought things into sharp perspective when his patient regarded pneumonia as the lesser of two evils. TC tried not to think too hard about that. He’d spent years as a doctor trying to come to terms with the idea that some patients couldn’t be saved, and others had to endure unimaginable suffering. He did his best to help, but at the end of the day, he wasn’t a god and he couldn’t work miracles. Even the Time Bureau’s medical facilities had their limits.

They moved Rip downstairs in a wheelchair, with Gideon apparently accompanying them via the speakers in the elevator. She seemed to be doing a decent job of distracting him by chatting to him, and TC saw no issues with allowing the light bickering the two seemed to enjoy. TC made sure he was properly settled in his room, and started with his treatment before he went to find Martin.

“I’ve admitted him,” he said. “I think now might be a good time to have that talk with him.”

Martin nodded and followed TC down the corridor to Rip’s room where he was sat, leaning against a mound of soft pillows, staring out of the window as Gideon read what sounded like Gulliver’s Travels to him. He had an oxygen cannula running under his nose and the medical cuff was snapped to his wrist. TC was pleased to see that although he wasn’t breathing easily the oxygen seemed to be helping and Rip looked relatively comfortable. Gideon stopped speaking as they entered.

“Martin,” said Rip, with some surprise. “I thought you’d be at home.”

“I have been and returned. Sara asked me to look into your illness,” said Martin. “Dr Callahan and I think we might have another treatment option for you, but it hinges on one important item of information.”

TC approached Rip’s bed. “Did you and Miranda keep Jonas’ cord blood? It’s becoming more normal for parents to do and it’s a source of stem cells, which assuming they’re a good enough match, we can use to replace your bone marrow.”

Rip frowned but nodded. “We did. But I already said that I don’t want anyone going anywhere near my family.”

“But we wouldn’t have to,” said Martin. “The Legends can retrieve the item from wherever it’s stored without anyone having to know.”

“It’s not for me to use, though,” said Rip. “We kept it for Jonas.”

“But he didn’t need it, did he?” said TC, gently.

Rip shook his head, sadly. “It just feels… wrong.”

“Director,” said Gideon. “I believe that had Jonas had the chance to grow up, he would have wanted to help you. He was a kind and intelligent boy who loved his father.”

Rip’s eyes were damp as he looked up at the ceiling. “I know, Gideon. I do know that.”

“One of the things that you have always struggled with is that his death felt senseless. Please, let Jonas save your life,” said Gideon.

Rip dropped his head and his fingers played with the edge of the blanket nervously. Finally, he nodded.

“Gideon, can give you the details of where to find what you need,” said Rip. “You have my permission.”

TC exchanged a look with Martin.

“Gideon,” said Martin. “You have my profuse apologies for the way that Director Hunter was treated by the team on the last mission. I don’t think we can undertake this mission without your help though, so I’m sure we’d all appreciate it if you returned to the Waverider.”

“Your apology is accepted, Professor Stein,” said Gideon. “However, apart from Captain Lance, none of the other team members have apologised.”

Rip looked up tiredly and spoke with exasperation. “Gideon, please? I’m sure they can apologise on the way if you still deem it necessary.”

“Very well,” said Gideon.

“Thank you,” said Rip. He looked at Martin. “You do realise that what you’re planning to do is another violation of the Bureau’s laws? Time travel for personal reasons is strictly forbidden.”

Martin shrugged. “I doubt the crew will have a problem with that, after all we nearly rewrote the Roman Empire.”

“The less said about that the better,” replied Rip. “But thank you. You’re risking a lot for me.”

“As I understand it, you’re the reason that we haven’t already been arrested,” said Martin. “And we are grateful for the opportunity to fix our mistakes, despite appearances to the contrary.”

“They’re my mistakes too, Martin. I may not have made the decision, but I did stand there and let you do it,” said Rip. “I should have known better.”

“But alas we can’t change our own personal past,” said Martin.

Rip nodded rather sadly.

***

The mission to London wasn’t one of the harder ones that the Legends had been on. Breaking into a hospital, finding the right receptacle, and stealing something that wasn’t heavily guarded was a piece of cake compared to some that they’d completed. Rip wanted to go with them, but TC hadn’t been prepared to let him out of the Infirmary, and if he was honest with himself, he knew he wasn’t physically up to it. Not even close at the moment.

He missed Gideon. He’d missed her when he’d sent her back to the Legends and now he found himself missing her more. When he’d been undergoing chemotherapy before, it was often only the sound of her voice that had comforted him. He wasn’t sure how he’d have got through the final doses without her. The agents of the Bureau were friendly and concerned about their boss, but he knew what Landry had meant when she said he still hadn’t really made friends here. TC, Eve and Ava were the closest he came, and he doubted any of them would read to him. He wasn’t sure he even really wanted them to.

So now he was faced with more chemo and radiation therapy to kill the diseased bone marrow and he knew it wasn’t going to be pleasant or easy, and this time he had to do it without Gideon. Or the certainty that he definitely lived to see the close of a time loop. The Legends were, once again, persona-non-grata at the Time Bureau after another rather chaotic mission, so Gideon couldn’t visit. He wasn’t even sure how well she was getting on with the Legends at the moment, and he worried.

TC noticed that something was wrong after Rip asked Gilbert to play an audio book from the beginning again for the third time.

“I can’t concentrate,” said Rip. “I can’t keep track of the story, and really I don’t think I listened to these things last time because I was paying attention to the plot. I just wanted to hear Gideon’s voice. She’s always been with me, and it’s strange not having her here.”

“The two of you spent half the time arguing,” said TC.

“Believe it or not, that’s actually one of the things that I miss,” said Rip.

“I know she’s not here, but you could call her,” said TC.

“She’s looking after the Legends. She’ll call in when there’s something to report,” said Rip.

TC shook his head. “She’s a super-computer. She can multitask.”

Rip shrugged. “It may not be safe for her to contact me.”

“I’ll get you a communicator,” said TC, not accepting Rip’s excuses.

Rip sighed, rubbed at his eyes and quietly said, “Thank you.”

“The Legends made me promise that I’d let them visit,” continued TC.

“That’s not a good idea,” said Rip. “If Agent Sharpe catches them here, she’ll arrest them.”

“They’ve got a Time Courier,” said TC. “You’re going to need all your friends over the next few weeks. Today’s chemo was rough, and you know that’s not the worst of it.”

“I don’t particularly like people seeing me ill and helpless,” said Rip. “Especially not my friends. It’s bad enough that you had to deal with my pathetic meltdown; I’d rather not expose them to my rather inevitable emotional disintegration.”

“Rip, you were in pain, sick to your stomach, feverish, exhausted, and barely conscious,” said TC. “I’m amazed you weren’t sobbing your heart out every goddamned minute you were awake.”

“I could still have been more stoic. And I’m about to go through it all again,” said Rip, with miserable resignation.

“Yeah, but this time we’ve got the stem cells to transplant and they’re a really good match,” said TC. “It’ll be worth it, I promise. We’re going to kill it this time.”

Rip nodded with acquiescence, and fell asleep soon afterwards.

TC got the communicator for Rip, and he and Gideon chatted quite regularly. TC also arranged for the Legends to be able to visit Rip in the Infirmary, and given that the doctor now had their former Captain in an isolation room, no one was any the wiser. TC would get in touch with them using the Bureau’s time communicator technology and let them know when the coast was clear.

They were given strict instructions about wearing gowns, gloves and masks though. Rip was undergoing radiation treatment to destroy the remainder of his bone marrow so that the new cells could replace the cancerous cells and grow into healthy bone marrow. It compromised his immune system and left him vulnerable to infection, even more so than he already had been. Sara regarded it as a form of torture, and told Rip that. He couldn’t disagree with her. He was about the sickest that he’d ever been. However, it was the only way they could save his life, so it had to be done.

For days he mostly lay in his Infirmary bed, generally too well dosed up on pain medication for much conversation, too nauseous to contemplate eating, and far too tired to stay awake for long, but at least he knew when people were there. He was surprised by how much it actually helped him. He could often hear people talking to him, even when he didn’t feel up to responding. The Legends would put Gideon on the communicator for him and once again he clung to the sound of her voice as he dealt with the worst of his treatment, trying to ignore the nausea and shivers.

It took time, but TC stepped down the pain meds when he thought Rip could take it and things improved, until finally the doctor was ready to transfuse the stem cells from Jonas’ cord blood. It was quite a big day when TC hooked up the cloned stem cells to his IV, because Rip could at last see the light at the end of the tunnel. This was the turning point when he finally began to get better, and there were all sorts of mixed emotions associated with it. He found himself conflicted.

“Hey,” said Sara, as she snuck into his room, the light from the Waverider fading as the portal closed behind her.

His room was lit only by his bedside lamp because he was suffering from light sensitivity again, although it wasn’t as severe this time. He could stand diffuse light, although the sharp white edges of the portal had been a little painful.

“Sara,” he said, with the beginning of a smile on his lips. He wasn’t quite sat up, but his shoulders were propped up on pillows. He was still pale and too tired to really move much, but it was an improvement on his earlier condition.

“You’re looking a bit better,” she said.

“Getting there,” he replied, softly.

“So, today’s it, huh?” she asked, eyeing the IV line.

“Yes, today is the day that I use my dead son to save my miserable life,” said Rip, with a sigh.

Sara gave him an unimpressed look. “What you mean is that today’s the day Jonas gets to save his dad.”

Rip found himself unable to speak for a moment, so he simply nodded. He suddenly realised that tears were in his eyes, and he wiped away the traitorous sign of his emotions.

“It’s okay to feel something about this,” said Sara.

“I know,” said Rip. “It’s just a little much to take in at the moment.”

“Give yourself time,” said Sara.

He shrugged. “It’s been seven years and it still hurts when I hear their names. Maybe not as much as it once did, but it’s still there. And this is bringing everything to the surface again.”

Sara gave him a slightly sad look. “There isn’t a schedule to grief, Rip.”

“I’m aware,” replied Rip. “That doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I know,” said Sara. “You know I do. Laurel’s death will never stop hurting, but I can give it meaning by being the White Canary for her. You’re alive now because of Jonas. It’s up to you how you make that mean something.”

Rip hesitantly nodded, and then looked over at Sara. “Thank you… for that, and just being here.”

Sara leaned in and gave him a hug.

***

“Director Hunter,” said Ava. “You are not cleared for work. You’re not even supposed to be out of the Infirmary.”

Rip was sat at his desk, in shirtsleeves, poring over anachronism information. He was still too thin and too pale for Ava’s liking, and his hair was only just beginning to grow back again, but it was an improvement given how ill he had been. A cup of tea was sat at his elbow, and had already been half drunk. The Bureau’s agents were as attentive as ever to their boss’s needs.

“I’m fine. Dr Callahan worries too much, and I was getting bored. Why didn’t anyone tell me about the Legends’ coming up against Kuasa?”

“Because you’re not supposed to be working,” replied Ava. “You have two options; you can either leave and go back to your apartment or I can have two agents escort you there bodily.”

Rip gave her an annoyed look. “You wouldn’t.”

“Would you like to test that statement?” she asked. “I believe that one of the things you recruited me for was my forthright honesty.”

Rip appeared to think about that for a moment, and then gave a single nod of complete understanding. He shut down the anachronism map, and pushed back his chair.

“I see. And exactly how angry is Dr Callahan with me right now?”

“I think his exact words were “if you have to shoot him and drag him out of his office then I have no problem”. Normally I’d complain about his disrespectful conduct, but on this occasion, I’m on his side.” Ava really was quite unimpressed.

Rip raised his eyebrows. “The two of you agreed on something? I really am in trouble. Very well, I’ll give up for the day and go back to my apartment to rest. Does that meet with the approval of you and the good doctor?”

“It’ll do,” said Ava.

Rip grabbed his jacket, and headed out of the office, with Ava following. She did her best to hide her smile though, as she escorted the Director towards the elevator. Things were back to normal, or at least whatever constituted normal for the Time Bureau.


End file.
